©If?  Stbpatli  Utbrarg 


■OF 


'Mniti^rBal  HxtntitviU 


A  BlOGRAPHICAI,  ANP  BtBLIOGRAPHICAI, 

Summary  of  run  Wori,d's  Most  Kmi- 
NUNT  Authors,  inci,udiiijo  th^ 
Choicest   Extracts   and  Master. 

PIECKS    prom    their  WRITINGS     .'.      .'. 


JOHN   CLARK  EIDPATH. 

Photogravure— Prom  a  photograph. 

I  Specially  engraved  for  the  Ridpath  Library. 

Jonn  Clark  kidpaxh,  A.M.  ^ 


t  -i^. 


Editor  of"  The  Arena,"  Author  of"  Ridpath'* 
History  of  the  United  States."  "Encyclo- 
pedia  of    Universal  History,"    "  Great 
Races  of  Mankind,''  etc.,  etc. 


BCJttton  5e  *uic 

TH^ENTY-FIVE     I  OLVMtMS 

Vol..    I. 


TH  AVENUE  LIBRARY  SOCIETY 


NEW  YORK 


®I|0  Utbpatli  SItbrarij 


OF: 


Umufraal  Ett^ratur^ 


A  Biographical  and  Bibliographicai, 
Summary  of  the  World's  Most  Emi- 
nent Authors,  including  the 
Choicest  Extracts  and  Master, 
pieces  from  their  writings    .*.    .*. 


Carefully    Revised    and   Arranged    by    a 
Corps   op   the  Most   Capable   Scholars 


BDITOR-IN-CHIEF 

John  Clark  Ridpath.  A.M^  LLD. 

Editor  of  "  The  Arena,"  Author  of  "  Ridpath'» 
History  of  the  United  States,"  "  Encyclo- 
pedia  of    Universal  History,"    "  Great 
Races  of  Mankind,"  etc.,  etc. 


Botttott  ^c  %nxc 

TlVENTY'FiyE    VOLUMES 

Vol.  I. 


FIFTH  AVENUE  LIBRARY  SOCIETY 
NEW  YORK 


Copyright.  1899 
By  the  globe  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


KEY   TO   PRONUNCIATION. 


a  as  in  fat,  man,  pang. 

a  as  in  fate,  mane,  dale. 

a  as  in  far,  father,  guard. 

S,  as  in  fall,  talk. 

a  as  in  ask,  fast,  ant. 

a  as  in  fare. 

e  as  in  met,  pen,  bless. 

e  as  in  mete,  meet. 

e  as  in  her,  fern. 

i  as  in  pin,  it. 

I  as  in  pine,  fight,  file. 

o  as  in  not,  on,  frog. 

5  as  in  note,  poke,  floor. 

6  as  in  move,  spoon. 
6  as  in  nor,  song,  off. 
u  as  in  tub. 

u  as  in  mute,  acute, 

u  as  in  pull. 

a  German  ii,  French  u. 

oi  as  in  oil,  joint,  boy. 
ou  as  in  pound,  proud. 

A  single  dot  under  a  vowel  in  an 
unaccented  syllable  indicates  its  ab- 
breviation and  lightening,  without  ab- 
solute loss  of  its  distinctive  quality. 
Thus: 

a    as  in  prelate,  courage. 
e    as  in  ablegate,  episcopal. 
5    as  in  abrogate,  eulogy,  democrat 
fl    as  in  singular,  education. 

A  double  dot  under  a  vowel  in  an  un- 
accented syllable  indicates  that,  even  in 
the  mouths  of  the   best   speakers,  its 


sound  is  variable  to,  and  in  ordinary  ut- 
terance actually  becomes,  the  short  u- 
sound  (of  but,  pun,  etc.).     Thus: 
a     as  in  errant,  republican, 
e    as  in  prudent,  difference. 
i    as  in  charity,  density. 
p    as  in  valor,  actor,  idiot, 
ji    as  in  Persia,  peninsula. 
e    as  in  t/ie  book. 
u    as  in  nature,  feature. 

A  mark  (~)under  the  consonants  i,  d, 
s,  z  indicates  that  they  in  like  manner 
arc  variable  to  c/t,  j,  sk,  zk.     Thus : 
t     as  in  nature,  adventure. 
d     as  in  arduous,  education, 
s     as  in  pressure. 
z     as  in  seizure. 
y     as  in  yet. 
B     Spanish  b  (medial). 
ch   as  in  German  ach,  Scotch  loch. 
G     as  in  German  Abensberg,  Hamburg. 
H     Spanish  g  before  e  and  i;  Spanish  j ; 

etc.  (a  guttural  h). 
n     French  nasalizing  n,  as  in  ton,  en. 
s     final  s  in  Portuguese  (soft), 
th    as  in  thin. 
IM  as  in  then. 

D  =TH. 

'  denotes  a  primary,  "  a  secondary  ac- 
cent. (A  secondary  accent  is  not  marked 
if  at  its  regular  interval  of  two  syllables 
from  the  primary,  or  from  another  sec- 
ondary.) 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS,  VOL.  h 


(WITH  PRONUNaATION.) 


Abbot  (aVpt),  Ezra. 
Abbott,  Charles  Conrad. 
Abbott,  Jacob. 
Abbott,  John  Stevens  Cabot 

Abbott,  Lyman. 

A  Beckett  (g  bek'et),  Gilbert  Abbott 

Abelard  (ab'e  lard'),  Peter. 

Abercrombie  (ab'er  krum  bi),  John. 

About  (a  he/),  Edraond. 

Adams  (ad'amz),  Abigail  (Smith). 

Adams,  Charles  Franci? 

Adams,  Hannah. 

Adams,  Henry. 

Adams,  John. 

Adams,  John  Quincy. 

Adams,  Sarah  Fuller  (Flower): 

Adams,  William. 

Adams,  William  Davenport 

Adams,  William  Henry  Davenport. 

Adams,  William  Taylor. 

Addison  (ad'i  son),  Joseph. 

Adler  (adier),  Felix. 

i^lianus  (e  li  a'nus),  Claudius. 

jEschines  (es'ki  nez). 

^schylus  (es'ki  lus). 

^sop  (e'sop). 

Agassiz  (ag'a  si;    Fr.  pron.  &  g'i  s50> 
Jean  Louis. 

Agathias  (a  ga'thi  as). 

Aguilar  (a  ge  lar'),  Grace. 

Ainsworth    (ans'w^rth),    William    Har- 
rison. 

Aird  (ard),  Thomas. 

Akenside  (a'ken  sid),  Mark. 

Alamanni  (a  la  man'nS),  Luigi. 

Alarcon  (a  lar  kon'),   Pedro    Antonio 
de. 

Albertus    Magnus    (al    ber'tus    mag' 
nus). 

Alcseus  (al  sS'us). 

Alcazar  (al  ka'thar),  Baltazat  de. 

Alciphrou  (al'si  fron). 

Aicman  (alk'man). 

A'cott  (Sl'kot),  Amos  Bronson. 

Alcott,  Louisa  May. 

Alcuin  (al'kwin). 

Allien  (al'den),  Henry  Mills. 

Alden,  Airs.  Isabella  (McDonaldJ,    . 


Alden,  Joseph. 

Alden,  William  Livingston. 

Aldrich   (ai"pch  or    Sl'drij),   Thomas 

Bailey. 
Aleardi  (a  la  Sr'de),  Aleardo. 
Alembert  (a  lori  bar'),  Jean  Baptiste  le 

Rond  d'. 
Alexander  (al  eg  zan'der),  Archibald. 
Ale.xander,  James  Waddell. 
Alexander,  Joseph  Addison. 
Alfieri  (al  fe  a're),  Vittorio. 
Alfonso  (al  fon'so)  IL  of  Castile. 
Alfonso  X.  of  Castile. 
Alford  (al'ford),  Henry. 
Alfred  (al'fred)  The  Great 
Alger  (al'jer),  Horatio,  Jr. 
Alger,  William  Rounseville. 
Alison  (al'i  son).  Rev.  Archibald. 
Alison,  Sir  Archibald. 
AUen  (al'en),  Charles  Grant 
Allen,  Elizabeth  (Chase). 
Allen,  James  Lane. 
Allerton  (al'C-r  ton),  Ellen  (Palmer). 
Allibone  (al'i  bon),  Samuel  Austin. 
AUingham  (al'ing  ham),  William. 
Allston  (al'ston),  Washington. 
Almqvist  (alm'kvist),  Karl  Jonas  Ludo 

wig. 
Amadis  of  Gaul  (am'a  dis  pv  gal). 
Ambrose,  or  Ambroslus,  Saint 
Ames  (amz),  Fisher. 
Amiel  (a  me  el'),  Henri  Fr^d^r^ 
Amory  (a'mo  ri),  Thomas. 
Anacreon  (a  nak're  on). 
Andersen  (an'der  sen),  Hans  Christian- 
Andrews  (an'droz),  Lancelot. 
Aneurin  (an'u  rin). 
Annunzio  (a  nun'zho),  Gabriele  d*. 
Anselm  (an'selm).  Saint. 
Anslo  (ar.s'io),  Reinier. 
Anstey  (ans'ti),  Christopher. 
Antar  (ar.'tar),  or  Antara. 
Anthology'  (an  thol'p  ji),  The  Greek. 
Anthony  (an'thp  ni),  Susan  BrowneK- 
Appleton  (apT  ton),  Thomas  Gold. 
Apuleius    (ap   y   le'ua),   or   Appuleius. 

Lucius. 


PREFACE 

Literature  is  the  highest  blossom  of  the  hu- 
man spirit.  It  is  higher  than  artr  for  if  art  sur- 
vives for  ages,  literature  survives  forever;  it  is 
immortal. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  literature  that  it  is  sus- 
ceptible of  being  translated  from  language  to 
language,  from  race  to  race,  from  century  to  cen- 
tury, and,  it  may  be,  from  world  to  world.  For 
thought,  we  doubt  not,  is  in  some  measure  com- 
mon to  the  inhabitants  of  all  the  spheres.  Is  not 
thought  indeed  a  part  and  essence  of  the  eter- 
nities? 

While  the  conditions  of  purely  assthetic  produc- 
tion suffer  change,  and  while  the  canons  of  artistic 
criticism  are  frequently  amended  and  reversed, 
literature  remains  coeval  with  mankind ;  it  cannot 
suffer  save  in  the  decadence  of  the  race  and  in  the 
collapse  of  civilization. 

Literature  is  recorded  in  the  book ;  the  book  is 

its  receptacle.     Literature  is  the  soul  of  the  book, 

and  the  book  is  the  body  of  the  soul.     The  book 

is  multifarious  in  form  and  presence.     It  may  be 

of  papyrus,  and  its  pictured  symbols  may  be  the 

hieratic  images  and  fictions  of  old  Egypt.     The 

book  may  be  the  sacred  scroll  of  Brahma.    It  may 

be  the  inaccessible  wedges  on  the  sculptured  face 

Cvii) 


,iH  PREFACE 

of  the  rocks  of  Behistun.  It  may  be  the  parch- 
ment  roll  of  Herodotus,  from  which  he  reads  to 
the  assembled  Greeks.  It  may  be  the  bark  of  the 
beech  (from  which,  indeed,  is  the  name  of  the  bock) 
written  in  runes  on  its  inner,  sappy  surface,  as  by 
the  old  Goths  beyond  the  Danube.  The  book 
may  be  the  parchment  rolls  of  Roman  poet  or 
orator.  It  may  be  the  crude  sheets  marked  from 
the  black-letter  blocks  of  Gutenburg  and  Faust. 
It  may  be  the  primitive  book  of  Wyclif  or  of  the 
old  printers  of  Venice.  It  may  be  the  printed 
paper  book  (albeit  "paper"  is  papyrus)  of  our 
modern  age,  born  of  revolving  cylinders  and  clat- 
tering binderies  going  always,  pouring  forth  their 
infinity  of  volumes  into  the  lap  of  civilization. 
And  in  these  books  is  embodied  the  literature  of 
the  world. 

Literature  is  not  of  one  race,  but  of  all  enlight, 
ened  races.  Even  the  barbarians,  though  they 
have  it  not,  possess  its  rudiments.  No  sooner  do 
they  become  self-conscious  than  they  begin  to 
essay  the  expression  of  that  consciousness  in  some 
record  of  themselves  and  their  deeds. 

To  gather  and  preserve  in  an  acceptable  form 
the  literature  of  the  world,  or  the  best  of  that 
literature,  is  a  work  not  to  be  overlooked  in  esti- 
niating  the  means  by  which  the  civilized  life  is 
preserved  and  promoted.  Certainly  not  all  liter- 
ature  can  be  brought  within  the  reach  of  all  in- 
telligences. Only  some  can  be  preserved  and 
offered  as  a  treasure  to  some ;  and  perhaps  a  por- 
tion to  all. 

The  present  work  is  the  result  of  an  effort  to 


PREFACE  ix 

collect  the  superior  productions  and  masterpieces 
of  the  great  authors  of  all  the  leading  races.  The 
body  of  these  volumes  is  drawn  from  the  literature 
of  the  English-speaking  peoples,  but  a  large  part 
also  from  the  products  of  French  and  German 
genius.  A  few  selections  have  been  made  from 
the  literature  of  the  Norse  and  from  the  Slavic 
races.  Beyond  the  confines  of  Europe,  as  far 
eastward  as  India,  and  as  far  westward  as  China 
and  Japan,  some  works  have  been  found  worthy 
of  a  place  in  this  thesaurus  of  letters. 

The  past  as  well  as  the  present  products  of  the 
human  mind  have  been  taken  as  contributions  to 
this  collection.  The  Middle  Ages  were  not  wholly 
unfruitful,  as  will  be  seen  from  the  literary  ex- 
amples chosen  out  of  that  obscure  and  chaotic 
period  in  history.  Farther  on  we  reach  the  il- 
lumined horizon  of  the  classical  ages,  and  find  the 
storehouses  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Out  of  these 
have  been  taken  the  more  important  examples  of 
the  intellectual  treasure  of  the  Old  World.  What 
the  immortal  Greeks  did  and  what  the  strong  but 
imitative  Romans  accomplished  in  literary  crea- 
tion may  be  known,  at  least  in  outline,  by  an  ex- 
ainination  of  the  sublime  relics  of  Grecian  and 
Latin  greatness  which  have  been  reproduced  ir 
these  volumes. 

This  work  is  an  evolution.  It  is  the  result  of  £, 
survival  and  selection  and  readjustment  of  many 
literary  collections  already  made.  It  is  a  farther 
and  more  complete  development  of  such  works, 
and,  we  trust,  an  improvement  upon  all  preceding- 
efforts  to  produce  a  satisfactory  summary  of  ^tvi' 


X  PREFACE 

eral  literature.  In  the  production  of  the  work, 
the  Editor  has  freely  availed  himself,  not  only  of 
that  literary  treasure  which  is  now  the  common 
property  of  all  mankind,  but  of  the  critical  skill 
and  industry  of  many  predecessors. 

This  work  has  grown  immediately  out  of  the 
De  Puy  University  of  Literature,  and  is  an  ex- 
pansion and  development  thereof.  It  also  has  for 
its  germinal  materials  the  collection  by  Guernsey, 
out  of  which  the  De  Puy  collection  was  evolved. 
The  valuable  collection  made  by  Stedman  and 
Hutchinson  under  the  title  of  Library  of  American 
Literature,  on  the  basis  of  Professor  Tyler's  His- 
tory of  American  Literature,  has  also  been  avail- 
able and  useful  for  the  suggestions  which  it  has 
afforded.  Many  other  smaller  collections  of  prose 
and  poetry  have  been  freely  consulted,  with  a  view 
to  rendering  the  present  work  as  extensive  and 
complete  as  possible. 

More  especially  is  a  certain  merit  claimed  for  this 
Library  of  Literature  in  this,  that  it  embodies 
the  recent  works  of  many  living  authors  who  have 
been  inadequately  represented  or  not  represented 
at  all  in  preceding  compilations.  At  the  present 
time  the  literary  evolution  is  going  on  rapidly 
throughout  the  world.  Not  a  year  passes  in 
which  some  new  wonder  comes  not  to  astonish  the 
readers  of  all  nations.  Not  a  decade  goes  by  in 
which  some  author  as  yet  but  dimly  known  to  man- 
kind does  not  come  into  his  full  inheritance  of  fame. 

A  Library  of  Literature,  to  be  most  useful  and 
available,  ought  to  embody  the  latest  and  best 
products  of  the  human    mind.     It  ought   also   to 


PREFACE  ^j 

eliminate,  by  degrees  and  gently,  those  work? 
which,  though  once  admired  and  re-read  with  ad. 
vantage.,  now  pall  somewhat  on  the  imaginatiori 
or  offend  the  new  learning  of  the  world.  This 
condition  makes  it  necessary  in  the  preparation  of 
a  work  such  as  the  present  to  exercise  great  care 
and  diligence,  not  only  in  making  selections  from 
living  authors,  recent  in  fame  and  honor,  but  also 
in  reconsidering  and  revising  the  selections  made 
from  those  who,  though  once  famous,  are  now 
less  famous  than  before. 

Another  essential,  not  to  be  overlooked  in  a  col- 
lection such  as  this  Library  of  Literature,  is 
the  apportionment  of  the  selections  according  to 
their  importance,  their  relative  interest,  and  their 
permanent  value  to  the  modern  reader — to  tlie 
American  reader  in  particular. 

This  principle  of  apportionment  relates  first  to 
the  authors  themselves,  and  secondly  to  the  produc- 
tions of  each.  A  work  like  the  present  may  easily 
become  misshapen  and  monstrous  from  undue 
prominence  given  to  that  which  ought  to  be 
obscure,  or  from  the  obscuration  of  the  great  by 
brevity  of  space  and  poverty  of  example.  Sym- 
metry in  the  apportionment  of  space  to  the  various 
authors,  according  to  their  merits  and  fame,  and 
the  like  principle  in  selecting  and  arranging  the 
works  of  each  according  to  fitness  and  value,  are 
the  true  criteria  by  which  the  preparation  of  a  gen- 
uine Library  of  Literature  ought  to  be  directed. 

That  a  work  such  as  the  present  shall  be  perfect 
in  its  kind  is  more  than  can  be  justly  expected. 
There   are   very  few  perfect  productions  of  the 


xii  PREFACE 

human  mind.  Even  a  four-line  stanza,  subjected 
to  the  hard  test  of  rigorous  criticism,  will  bo 
found  to  bear  imperfections ;  the  diamond  has  its 
specks  and  flaws.  If  a  single  stanza  be  imperfect, 
how  much  more  shall  the  whole  poem  be  imper- 
fect ?  And  if  the  poem,  how  much  more  the  book 
of  poems?  And  if  a  single  book  of  poems,  placed 
under  severe  scrutiny,  be  marred  with  faults  and 
violations  of  true  art,  what  shall  we  expect  oi  a 
work  composed  of  many  volumes  drawn  together 
from  remote  regions  across  oceans  of  time  and 
continents  of  space,  to  be  adjusted  and,  as  it  were, 
made  organic  in  a  single  work  according  to  the 
fallible  judgment  and  uncertain  taste  of  a  single 
compiler,  whose  personal  equation  and  limitation 
of  knowledge  must  always  be  considered  ? 

For  this  Library  of  Literature  perfection  is 
not  claimed.  The  claim  is  that  it  embodies  much  of 
the  earliest  and  greatest  and  much  of  the  latest  and 
best  products  of  the  human  mind.  Doubtless,  in 
consulting  this  work,  the  reader  now  and  then  will 
be  disappointed  and  sometimes  offended  to  find 
the  omission  of  his  favorite  and  the  insertion  of 
his  dislike.  This  is  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  and 
cannot  be  avoided.  But,  on  the  whole,  it  is  hoped 
and  believed  that,  for  the  greater  part,  they  who 
consult  these  volumes  will  find  not  only  a  residue 
of  the  treasure,  but  an  abundance  of  that  intellect' 
ual  wealth  which  has  enriched  the  mind,  glorifi 'd 
the  world,  and  purified  somewhat  the  spir-*  i\ 
mankind. 

J.  C.  R. 

Boston.  i8q8. 


ABBOT,  Ezra,  LL.D.,  an  American  biblical 
scholar,  born  at  Jackson,  Me.,  April  28,  1819  ;  died 
at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  March  21,  1884.  He  grad- 
uated at  Bowdoin  College  in  1840;  taught  in  va- 
rious academies  until  1847,  when  he  took  up  his 
residence  at  Cambridge,  where  he  was  a  teacher 
in  the  High  School  until  1852.  He  devoted  him- 
self especially  to  private  studies  in  philology  and 
bibliography,  reading  in  the  libraries  in  and  around 
Boston,  In  1856  he  was  appointed  Assistant  Libra- 
rian in  Harvard  College,  his  special  duty  being  that 
of  classifying  and  cataloguing  the  books  of  the  li- 
brary. He  occupied  this  position  until  1872,  when 
he  was  made  Bussey  Professor  of  New  Testament 
Criticism  and  Interpretation  in  the  Harvard  Di- 
vinity School.  His  especial  forte  was  bibliog- 
raphy, upon  which  subject  he  was  perhaps  the 
best-acknowledged  American  authority,  and  he 
had  few  equals  in  other  countries.  Most  of  his 
literary  labor  appears  in  the  form  of  contribu- 
tions to  editions  of  the  collected  works  of  others, 
or  in  periodicals  of  the  day.  For  Worcester's 
Dictionary  he  laboriously  revised  the  pronounc- 
ing vocabulary  of  Greek,  Latin,  and  Scriptural 
Proper  Names,  which,  says  Worcester,  "  will,  it  is 
believed,  be  found  to  be  more  correct  than  any 
before  published."  His  Prolegomena  to  Tischen- 
dorf's  eighth  edition  of  his  New  Testament  is  of 


14  EZRA   ABBOT 

high  critical  value.  The  historico-critical  volume 
on  The  Author sJiip  of  the  Fourth  Gospel {\%Zo)  is  his 
main  separate  work ;  for  his  exhaustive  Literature 
of  the  Doctrine  of  a  Future  Life  (1864),  though 
equivalent  in  bulk  to  a  moderate  volume,  was  pre- 
pared  merely  as  an  Appendix  to  William  Rounse- 
ville  Alger's  Critical  History  of  the  Doctrine  of  a 
Future  Life.  This  work  of  Mr.  Abbot  contains 
the  titles  of  more  than  5,000  books  and  treatises 
upon  the  general  subject,  all  classified  under  suit- 
able heads.  In  the  preface  to  this  work  Mr.  Abbot 
says: 

THE    BIBLIOGRAPHY    OF    A    FUTURE    LIFE. 

In  deciding  upon  the  form  of  the  BibHography,  I 
could  not  hesitate  to  prefer  a  f/«^j<?^ catalogue,  with  the 
titles  to  each  section  arranged  chronologically.  .  .  . 
The  subjects  embraced  in  the  Bibliography — the  Nature, 
Origin,  and  Destiny  of  the  Soul — belong  partly  to  Phi- 
losophy, and  partly  to  Religion.  They  are  accordingly 
discussed  not  only  in  the  special  treatises  relating  to 
them,  but  in  general  works  on  metaphysics,  on  natural 
religion,  on  Christian  doctrines,  and  on  various  religions 
and  superstitions.  The  question  of  materialism  and 
the  relation  between  the  human  and  the  brute  mind  are 
also  treated  of  by  writers  on  physiology  and  natural 
history. 

To  include  in  the  catalogue  all  of  these  general  works 
was,  of  course,  impossible  ;  but  many  of  the  more  im- 
portant have  been  noticed.  This  is  particularly  the 
case  in  that  part  of  the  bibliography  which  relates  to 
the  opinions  concerning  the  soul,  which  have  prevailed 
among  heathen  nations.  That  works  on  the  Hindu 
philosophy  and  religion  have  been  given  with  a  good  de- 
gree of  fulness  will  not  excite  surprise,  since  the  doc- 
trine of  transmigration  lies  at  the  centre  of  both  Brah- 
manism  and  Buddhism,  The  books  held  sacred  by  the 
followers  of  Confucius,  on  the  other  hand,  contain  very 
little  concerning  the  future  life,  a  subject  on  which  that 


EZRA    ABBOT  15 

philosopher  discouraged  inquiries.  But  for  the  conve- 
nience of  the  student  who  may  wish  at  least  to  verify 
that  remarkable  fact,  it  appeared  desirable  to  include 
them  in  the  catalogue. 

As  to  special  treatises  on  the  subject  of  the  bibliog- 
raphy, written  in  Greek  or  Latin,  and  in  the  principal 
languages  of  Europe  (except  those  of  the  Slavic  family), 
I  have  intended  to  admit  the  titles  of  all  of  any  im- 
portance which  have  fallen  under  my  notice.  This  re- 
mark, however,  does  not  apply  to  a  few  classes  of  works 
only  incidentally  connected  with  the  proper  subjects  of 
the  catalogue  :  as  those  on  Death,  the  Descent  of  Christ 
into  Hades,  the  Resurrection  of  Christ,  and  modern 
"  Spiritualism,"  under  which  heads  merely  a  selection  of 
titles  is  purposely  given.  Single  sermons  have  been  for 
the  most  part  omitted,  unless  the  production  of  eminent 
writers,  or  belonging  to  a  controversy,  or  remarkable 
for  some  peculiarity.  As  to  Oriental  works  I  have,  for 
the  most  part,  contented  myself  with  noticing  the  best 
translations. 

While  some  may  regret  that  a  single  pamphlet  has 
been  neglected,  others  probably  will  complain  of  excess. 
"What  is  the  use,"  it  may  be  said,  "of  collecting  the 
titles  of  so  many  old  obsolete  books?"  I  answer  :  The 
study  of  fossil  remains  in  theological  and  metaphysi- 
cal literature  is  as  interesting  and  as  instructive  to  the 
philosopher  as  palaeontology  is  to  the  naturalist.  In 
pursuing  his  researches  in  this  field,  one  may  indeed 
disinter  strange  monsters,  but  these  representatives  of 
tribes  now  extinct  doubtless  fulfilled  their  place  in  the 
economy  of  Providence,  and  were  suited  to  the  times  in 
which  they  appeared,  as  truly  as  the  great  geological 
saurians.  We  marvel  at  the  follies  and  superstitions  of 
the  past ;  but  when  the  philosophy  and  theology  of  the 
nineteenth  century  shall  have  become  petrified,  pos- 
terity may  regard  some  of  their  phenomena  with  equal 
wonder.  I  have  therefore  aimed  to  give  a  full  exhibi- 
tion of  the  subject,  without  partiality  toward  the  Old  or 
the  New.— Z//^A-a/«/-<?  of  the  Doctrine  of  a  Future  Life. 


ABBOTT,  Charles  Conrad,  an  American 
naturalist,  born  at  Trenton,  N.  J.,  June  4,  1843. 
He  graduated  as  M.D.  at  the  Universit}^  of  Penn- 
sylvania, in  1865.  Besides  contributions  to  scien- 
tific journals,  his  publications  include :  Primitive 
Industry  ;  or,  Illustrations  of  the  Hand-ivork  in  Stone, 
Bone,  and  Clay  of  the  Native  Races  of  the  NortJiern 
Atlantic  Seaboard  (1881);  A  Naturalisfs  Rambles 
about  Home  (1884),  which  The  Nation  characterized 
as  "  one  of  the  best  books  on  the  natural  history  of 
the  United  States;"  Upland  and  Meadow  {\^ZG)  ; 
Waste-land  Wanderings  (1887)  ;  Days  Out  of  Doors 
(1889)  ;  Outings  at  Odd  Times  (1890)  ;  Recent  Ram- 
bles (1892) ;  Recent  ArcJicEological Explorations  in  the 
Valley  of  the  Delaware  ( 1 892) ;  Travels  in  a  Tree-top 
(1894) ;  The  Birds  About  Us  (1894) ;  A  Colonial  Woo- 
ing (1895).  His  value  to  the  field  of  scientific 
literature  can  probably  best  be  judged  from  the 
following  quotation  from  Tlie  Dial :  "Mr.  Abbott 
is  widely  known  as  a  faithful  investigator  in  the 
various  fields  of  natural  science,  and  as  a  con- 
tributor of  acknowledged  value  to  the  department 
of  ornithology."  The  student  may  well  read  all 
he  says  throughout  his  work,  if  for  nothing  else 
than  the  scattered  remarks  which  he  will  surely 
be  able  to  add  to  his  stock  of  coveted  lore.  An- 
other  writer,  in  speaking  of  his  Notes  of  the  Night, 
says :  "  Such  a  lover  of  out-of-doors  life  is  he,  such 


CHARLES   CONRAD  ABBOTT  17 

a  keen  observer,  such  a  delver  into  out-of-the-way 
places,  that  we  watch  with  much  interest  to  see 
what  he  will  find  next  to  tell  us.  He  never  tires 
of  giving  us  good  advice,  which  far  too  few  of  us 
follow.  He  tells  us  of  moonlight  strolls  over  fields 
and  through  woods,  in  summer  and  winter ;  of 
floating  on  the  river  under  the  starlit  sky,  with  an 
old  recluse  for  companion,  identifying  the  notes 
of  birds  and  insects ;  of  adventures  in  a  boat 
on  a  flooded  meadow,  *  when  grass  is  green ' ; 
of  a  tramp  '  out  of  the  beaten  path,'  to  a  pictur- 
esque mill ;  of  an  old  barn  and  its  inhabitants, 
plant  and  animal,  and  of  many  other  pleasant 
saunterings,  in  the  course  of  which  sharp  eyes 
discovered  and  a  ready  pen  has  described  many 
beautiful  and  odd  things  which  the  ordinary  un- 
observant pedestrian  might  never  see."  As  an 
archaeologist  and  scientist  Mr.  Abbott  ranks  high. 

A    DAY    IN    OCTOBER. 

The  haze,  the  quiet,  the  soft  south  wind,  and  tower- 
ing trees,  still  green  of  leaf,  and  ribboned  with  scarlet 
creepers,  twining  from  trunk  to  twig,  give  this  perfect 
day  that  combination  of  color  in  perfection  which  is  the 
great  seal  of  the  month  of  October.  The  harsh  scream 
of  the  blue-jay  waxes  musical  at  such  a  time  ;  nothing 
seems  crude  or  out  of  place.  The  squat,  broad-leaved 
oaks  now  show  the  deepest  green.  So  tough  and 
leathery  are  their  leaves  that  the  late  frost  could  not 
affect  them.  The  white,  pin,  swamp -white,  red,  and 
chestnut  oaks  all  cluster  here,  either  on  the  slope  of 
the  hill  or  in  the  level  meadow,  and  show  the  effect  of 
frost,  if  that  it  was  which  changed  the  color  of  their 
leaves  ;  but  this  sturdy  Quercus  obtusiloba  laughs  at  all 
such  cold  snaps,  and  will  wave  green  leaves  until  No- 
vember, perhaps  later,  and  then  drop  them  down  to 
Vol.  I.— 2 


•>8  CHARLES   CO.VRAD  ABBOTT 

Mother  Earth,  tough,  shining,  unbroken,  and  brown  as 
the  polished  chincapins  upon  which  they  fall. 

The  increasing  warmth  toward  noon  brings  out 
myriads  of  wasps,  that  congregate  on  the  south  side  of 
the  house  and  of  all  the  outbuildings.  I  dare  venture 
into  no  sunny  nook  regardless  of  them.  They  are  not 
teachable,  at  least  at  short  notice,  as  Sir  John  Lubbock's 
wasp  was  trained,  and  respect  no  lover  of  nature  and 
admirer  of  hymenoptera.  It  is  all  one  with  them  ;  touch, 
and  they  touch  back  with  emphasis.  I  sat  upon  one 
this  morning  while  in  the  meadow,  and  how  quickly  he 
unseated  me.  Now,  safe  from  their  assaults,  I  hear 
their  horny  heads  bring  up  against  the  window-panes 
like  rattling  hail.  They  retire  undiscouraged,  and  re- 
turn as  impetuously.  Lively  little  battering-rams, 
always  ready  for  action,  never  tiring  of  this  butting 
process,  and  never  learning  that  they  cannot  get  in. 
They  give  us  every  evidence  of  stupidity,  yet  are  really 
teachable  creatures. 

Cabbage-butterflies  and  fritillaries  floated  over  the 
frost-bitten  grass,  active  as  in  August,  stooping  now 
and  then  to  suck  some  sweet  the  October  frost  has 
spared  ;  but  not  a  flower  was  to  be  seen  in  acres  of 
meadow,  A  more  striking  insect  phenomenon  was  the 
myriads  of  grasshoppers.  They  weighed  down  every 
blade  of  grass,  and  yet  there  was  not  a  bird  in  sight  to 
feed  upon  them.  These  hoppers  were  not  eating  the 
grass.  Had  they  been,  not  a  blade  would  have  been 
left  by  sundown.  I  chased  a  cloud  of  them  into  the 
widest  portion  of  the  main  meadow-ditch,  but  all,  I 
think,  swam  safely  across.  Not  a  frog  or  fish  appeared 
to  rise  to  the  surface  and  seize  one. 

I  pushed  one  well  down  the  tall  clay  chimney  of  a 
Diogenes  crayfish,  but  it  promptly  returned,  none  the 
worse  for  its  subterranean  journey.  I  placed  another 
in  the  dark  den  of  a  villainous-looking  spider,  but  it  was 
simply  ordered  out,  and  not  harmed.  It  would  seem  as 
if  these  grasshoppers  have  no  enemies,  or  was  it  that  all 
carnivorous  creatures  hereabouts  were  surfeited  with 
their  flesh  ? 

Passing  to  another  lower,  weedier,  wetter  meadow, 
the  number  of  dragon-flies  was  the  most  marked  feat- 


CHARLES   CONRAD  ABBOTT  19 

ure  of  the  locality.  A  few  were  black  as  polished  jet; 
others  gray,  green,  red,  barred,  and  indefinitely  varied. 
I  did  not  stop  to  count  the  varieties,  but  to  learn  why 
so  many  gathered  in  so  small  a  space.  The  cause 
proved  to  be  the  decomposing  remains  of  a  calf,  of 
which  but  little  beyond  the  bones  were  left.  Not  a 
square  inch  of  the  exposed  surfaces  of  these  but  was 
covered  with  the  flies.  I  knew  they  were  carnivorous, 
but  not  to  the  extent  suggested  by  their  hovering  over 
nearly  dry  bones. 

I  was  not  much  surprised,  on  a  closer  inspection  of 
the  remains  of  the  calf,  to  see  half  a  dozen  meadow- 
mice  scuttle  off  through  the  tall  grass,  for  they  are 
fonder  of  a  flesh  than  a  vegetable  diet,  in  spite  of  their 
anatomy  ;  but  I  was  surprised  to  find  \arge  numbers  of 
humble-bees  creeping  over  the  ground,  in  and  out 
among  the  bones,  reaching  to  where  the  dragon-flies 
could  not  go.  Tainted  flesh,  it  would  seem,  has  a  host 
of  admirers  in  many  orders  of  the  anima)  kingdom.  On 
moving  some  of  the  loose  bones  I  found  beetles  of 
several  sorts,  and  ants,  white,  black,  «nd  red,  and  at 
times  disturbed  whole  clouds  of  minute  flies  of  no  name 
known  to  me.  What  a  wealth  of  an'mal  life  to  be  found 
in  so  unsavory  a  place  !  Mice,  hees,  beetles,  dragon- 
flies,  and  minute  insects  by  the  million  ;  all  feeding 
quietly  on  the  shreds  of  skin  ana  I'^ndons  left  by  greedy 
vultures  a  month  or  more  ago. 

The  threatening  bank  of  duU  gray  clouds  that  all  day 
long  had  been  lying  along  the  western  horizon  roused 
itself  to  action  an  hour  or  more  before  sunset,  and, 
overspreading  the  unflecked  blue  sky  of  the  morning, 
practically  closed  the  day.  Without  further  warning  it 
rained,  suddenly,  steadily,  penetratingly.  The  thickest 
foliage  could  not  ward  it  ott,  and  the  steady  dripping  of 
dislodged  raindrops  was  heard  all  through  the  woods 
long  after  the  shower  had  passed  by.  Without  a  fare- 
well ray  to  gild  the  treetops  on  the  eastern  slopes,  the 
sun  went  down,  and  a  gloomy  night  followed  what  so 
lately  had  been  a  rare,  ripe  autumn  day,  full  to  the  brim 
with  all  of  October's  glories. 

Gloomy  out  of  doors,  but  none  the  less  worthy  of  be- 
ing studied.     What  of  the  wealth  of  life  seen  earlier  in 


so  CHARLES   CONRAD  ABBOTT 

the  day  ?  How  and  where  did  it  take  shelter  ?  It  would 
be  hard,  indeed,  to  determine  this  in  every  case ;  but  of 
a  few  forms  something  may  be  said.  The  myriads  of 
grasshoppers,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  cunningly  sought 
the  broader  blades  of  grass,  and,  securing  a  firm  hold 
on  the  under  side,  stood,  head  downward,  comfortably 
roofed  and  safe  from  any  ordinary  rain.  I  found  thou- 
sands sheltered  in  this  simple  manner. 

The  meadow-mice  apparently  anticipate  a  soaking 
rain,  and  their  tortuous  tunnels,  shallow  as  they  are, 
were  so  arranged  that  the  rain  did  not  flow  through 
them.  In  little,  hay-lined  anterooms  I  found  several, 
and  all  were  dry  as  chips.  The  roofs  of  these  snug- 
geries were  waterproof,  and  the  rain  was  warded  off 
from  the  paths  that  led  to  them.  These  mice  were  pre- 
pared for  any  ordinary  dash  of  rain,  but  I  suppose  had 
other  shelter  during  and  after  protracted  storms.  My 
studies  were  here  interrupted  by  a  second  shower,  and 
I  was  forced  to  seek  shelter  for  myself,  rather  than 
look  for  the  dragon-flies,  as  I  intended. —  Upland  and 
Meadow. 


ABBOTT,  Jacob,  an  American  Congregational 
clergyman,  educator,  and  writer  of  juvenile  books ; 
born  at  Hallowell,  Me.,  November  14,  1803;  died 
October  31, 1879.  He  studied  at  Bowdoin  College 
and  at  i\ndover  Theological  Seminary,  and  was 
Professor  of  Mathematics  and  Natural  Philosophy 
in  Amherst  College  from  1825  to  1829,  when  he 
took  charge  of  the  Mount  Vernon  Female  School 
in  Boston.  From  1834  to  1838  he  was  minister  of 
a  Congregational  church  in  Roxbury,  Mass.  Sub- 
sequently he  conducted  a  school  for  boys  in  New 
York.  During  the  greater  part  of  his  life  he  was 
actively  engaged  in  authorship.  His  works  in  all 
number  not  less  than  three  hundred,  most  of  them 
being  of  small  size,  and  written  for  the  young. 
Many  of  them  are  in  the  form  of  fiction,  and  are 
grouped  into  a  series  of  several  volumes,  with  a 
common  set  of  characters  running  through  the 
groups.  Among  these  are  the  jRo//o  Books,  28 
vols. ;  the  Liftry  Books,  6  vols. ;  the  Jonas  Books,  6 
vols. ;  Harper  s  Story  Books,  36  vols. ;  Franconia 
Stories,  10  vols.;  TJie  Gay  Family,  12  vols.  The 
Young  Christian  series,  4  vols.,  which  preceded 
most  of  the  others,  is  of  a  larger  size.  He  also 
wrote  about  twenty  biographies  of  noted  persons 
in  ancient  and  modern  history ;  Science  for  the 
Young,  comprising  popular  treatises  on  Heat, 
Light,  Force,  and  Water  and  Land.    He  also  edi- 


22  JACOB  ABBOTT 

ted  several  historical  text-books  and  compiled  a 
series  of  School  Readers.  Our  selections  are  mainly 
from  his  more  notable  books. 

THE  LAST  SUPPER. 

"And  when  they  had  sung  an  hymn  they  went  out 
into  the  Mount  of  Olives."  The  Saviour  and  His  dis- 
ciples stood  around  their  table  and  sang  an  hymn.  It  was 
the  Redeemer's  last  public  act — His  final  farewell.  H? 
had  presided  over  many  an  assembly,  guiding  their  de. 
votions  or  explaining  to  them  the  principles  of  religion. 
Sometimes  the  thronging  multitudes  had  gathered 
around  Him  on  the  sea-shore;  sometimes  they  had 
crowded  into  a  private  dwelling;  and  He  sat  in  the 
synagogue,  and  he  explained  the  Law  to  the  congrega- 
tion assembled  there.  But  the  last  moments  had  now 
come.  He  was  presiding  in  the  last  assembly  which,  by 
His  mortal  powers,  He  should  ever  address  ;  and  when 
the  hour  for  separation  came,  the  last  tones  in  which 
His  voice  uttered  itself  were  heard  in  song.  What 
could  have  been  their  hymn  ?  Its  sentiments  and  feel- 
ings, they  who  can  appreciate  the  occasion  may  perhaps 
conceive  ;  but  what  were  its  words?  Beloved  Disciple, 
why  didst  thou  not  record  them.?  They  should  have 
been  sung  in  every  nation  and  language  and  clime.  W& 
would  have  fixed  them  in  our  hearts  and  taught  them 
to  our  children  ;  and  whenever  we  came  together  to 
commemorate  our  Redeemer's  sufferings,  we  would 
never  have  separated  without  singing  His  parting 
Hymn. —  The  Corner  Stone. 

AT  THE    COUNTRY    STORE. 

The  store  was  kept  by  a  hard-faced  looking  man  who 
went  by  the  name  of  Shubael,  sometimes  with  and  some- 
times without  the  prefix  "Colonel."  He  was  an  elderly 
man,  quiet  and  cool  in  his  air  and  manner,  and  with  a 
countenance  placid  but  heartless  in  its  expression. 
There  was  a  certain  quick  motion  of  his  eye  which 
showed  that  he  was  shrewd  and  observant.  His  store 
had  a  bad  name,  and  yet  no  one  seemed  to  know  ex- 


JACOB  ABBOTT  «S 

actly  why.  Colonel  Shubael  himself,  too,  was  the  ob- 
ject of  a  certain  mysterious  fear,  and  even  hate  ;  and 
yet  no  one  had  anything  very  decided  to  say  against 
him.  He  was  believed  to  be  a  perfectly  honest  man,  so 
far  as  legal  honesty  is  concerned.  No  man  understood 
the  law  better  than  he,  or  the  sound  policy  of  keeping 
on  good  terms  with  it. 

Mr.  Shubael's  store  was  small,  but  it  had  a  snug,  so- 
cial air  within.  It  was  nearly  square,  with  a  door  in  the 
middle  of  the  front.  A  counter  extended  along  one 
side  and  across  the  back  of  the  store  ;  and  on  the  re- 
maining side,  near  the  corner  next  the  road,  was  a  fire- 
place, with  a  barrel  of  oil  and  another  of  cider  near  it, 
to  keep  it  from  freezing.  There  were  other  barrels  and 
hogsheads,  less  likely  to  freeze,  behind  the  counter 
against  the  back  side  of  the  room.  A  door  between  two 
great  black  hogsheads  mounted  on  sticks  opened  to  a 
dark-looking  back  room  behind.  Tubs,  bundles  of  whip- 
handles,  hoes  and  shovels,  barrels,  kegs  of  nails,  and 
iron-ware  encumbered  the  floor,  leaving  only  narrow 
passages  along  in  front  of  the  counters  and  toward  the 
fire.  There  was  a  little  area  near  the  fire  also  unoccu- 
pied, and  two  or  three  basket-bottomed  chairs,  with 
high  wooden  backs,  stood  there.  A  half-keg  of  closely 
packed  tobacco  was  near,  with  one  loose  fig  and  an  old 
hatchet  lying  on  it ;  and  there  was  an  ink-bottle,  with  a 
blackened  and  dried-up  quill  thrust  through  the  cork, 
in  the  chimney  corner. 

This  was  the  aspect  of  the  store  in  the  winter;  but  it 
was  now  summer,  between  haying  and  harvesting.  The 
fire  was  dead,  and  a  great  tin  fender  concealed  the  ashes 
and  brands.  The  chairs  were  put  out  before  the  door, 
and  two  or  three  men  were  sitting  and  standing  there, 
waiting  for  the  "  stage."  It  was  a  calm  and  pleasant 
afternoon;  the  forests  around  were  in  their  best  dress, 
and  the  view  up  the  pond  was  picturesque  in  the  highest 
degree.  But  the  company  paid  little  attention  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery.  They  were  looking  out  for  the 
"stage." 

Mr.  Shubael  was  the  postmaster.  A  little  high  paling, 
at  the  end  of  the  counter  opposite  the  fire,  was  the  post- 
office.     The   mail  came   once  a  week,   bringing  a   few 


24  JACOB  ABBOTT 

newspapers,  and  sometimes  some  letters.  The  company 
which  was  collected  on  this  occasion  were  not  interested 
so  much  in  the  contents  of  the  mail  as  in  a  new  team  of 
horses  and  a  large  coach,  which  was  that  day  for  the 
first  time  to  be  put  on  the  road.  They  were  looking 
off  beyond  the  bridge,  where  the  road  could  be  seen  for 
a  considerable  distance  winding  around  a  hill,  and  talk- 
ing with  noisy  laughter  about  various  subjects  that  came 
up. 

By  the  side  of  the  door,  outside,  his  chair  tipped  bade 
against  the  side  of  the  building  and  his  feet  resting 
upon  a  bar  which  passed  along  between  two  posts  placed 
there  for  fastening  horses,  sat  a  tall,  dark-complexioned 
man,  with  black  bushy  hair  and  eyebrows,  and  an  intel- 
ligent but  sinister  expression  of  countenance.  They 
called  him  McDonner, 

"McDonner,"  said  one  of  the  men,  leaning  upon  the 
bar  before  him,  "  it's  a  great  poser  to  me  how  you  con- 
trive to  pick  up  a  living.  Your  farm  over  there  don't 
produce  enough  to  winter  over  a  red  squirrel.  Then 
you're  off,  nobody  knows  where,  half  of  the  time.  I'll 
lay  ten  to  one  there's  some  foul  play." 

McDonner  muttered  some  inarticulate  ejaculation  in 
reply,  and  then  said,  taking  down  his  feet  and  drawing 
himself  up  in  his  chair,  "  I  can  tell  you  what  would  be  a 
very  pretty  way  for  you  to  get  a  living." 

''  How  ?  "  rejoined  his  interrogator. 

"By  attending  to  your  own  business,  and  leaving  me 
to  manage  mine." 

The  company  tried  to  receive  this  with  a  laugh,  but 
the  attempt  was  a  failure.  Shubael  was  standing  at  this 
moment  at  the  door.  He  interposed  to  prevent  ill-will. 
"  Come,  come,"  said  he,"  no  sparring.  Who's  that  com- 
ing down  the  road  ?  " 

The  men  turned  their  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
road,  where  they  were  expecting  to  see  the  stage,  and 
they  saw  a  man  coming  along  with  something  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  It's  Terry,  as  I'm  alive,"  said  Shubael,  with  a  sort  of 
a  nod  and  a  wink,  "  bringing  back  his  axe,  just  as  I  said 
— exactly." 

The  men   asked  him  what  he  meant,  but  he  turned 


JACOB  ABBOTT  25 

away  with  a  knowing  look  and  disappeared  in  the  store. 
McDonner  twisted  his  long  body  around  so  as  to  look 
in  at  the  door,  and  called  out  : 

"Colonel  Shubael,  come  back  here,  and  tell  us  all 
about  Terry's  axe.  You've  been  coming  over  the  poor 
fellow  in  some  of  your  sly  ways,  I  know.  Tell  us  all 
about  it." 

Shubael  came  to  the  door  again,  with  a  look  of  hard, 
selfish  satisfaction  on  his  face,  and  told  his  story  thus  : 

"  Terry  got  a  job  the  other  day  which  brought  him  a 
little  money,  and  he  came  here  and  wanted  to  get  an 
axe.  '  Shubael,'  says  he,  '  I  want  a  first-rate  axe,  and  I 
am  able  to  pay  for  it.'  *  Well,'  says  I, '  Terry,  I've  got 
some  of  Darlington's  best,  warranted.'  'What's  the 
price  ? '  said  he.     *  A  dollar  and  a  half,'  says  I." 

*' Oh, Shubael,"  cried  one  of  the  bystanders,  "you  of- 
fered to  sell  me  one  for  a  dollar  and  a  quarter.  That's 
a  fine  way  to  work  poor  Terry." 

Here  was  a  shout  of  laughter,  to  which  Shubael  him- 
self, however,  contributed  rather  faintly,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded :  "  Why,  I  knew  he  would  not  keep  the  axe  a 
week,  and  so  it  was  not  much  matter  what  he  paid  for 
it." 

"Avery  pretty  reason  that,  I  declare,"  said  McDon- 
ner. "  I  rather  guess  he  did  not  get  his  money  back  in 
a  week." 

*'  I  told  him  a  dollar  and  a  half,  at  any  rate,"  contin- 
ued Shubael,  "and  he  chose  out  one,  and  bought  a  han- 
dle for  it,  and  paid  the  money.  'Twas  the  first  time  he 
had  bought  anything  but  spirits  at  my  store  for  three 
months.  I  knew  he  would  not  keep  it  a  week,  and  now 
he's  coming  back  to  get  the  value  of  it  in  spirits,  or  my 
name's  not  Shubael." 

It  was  not  long  before  Terry  approached.  He  was  a 
thin,  dejected,  miserable-looking  man,  though  his  coun- 
tenance had  a  certain  expression  of  intelligence.  As  he 
came  up  to  the  store  door,  he  was  hailed  in  various 
tones  by  the  several  loungers  there,  and  made  the  butt 
of  jokes,  some  coarse  and  others  dull.  He  received 
them  all  with  a  vacant  smile  and  walked  into  the  store. 

"Well,  Terry,"  said  Shubael,  "  how  do  you  make  your 
axe  go  ? " 


26  JACOB  ABBOTT 

"It's  not  a  good  one,"  said  Terry,  "and  I  want  you 
to  take  it  back." 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?  "  asked  Shubael,  taking 
the  axe  from  Terry's  hand  and  turning  a  sly  glance 
toward  the  company,  who  were  looking  in  at  the  door 
to  see  how  the  negotiation  was  to  result. 

"Oh,  it's  too  soft.  I  can't  do  anything  with  it,  and 
you  must  take  it  back,  as  it  is  warranted,"  said  Terry, 
pointing  to  the  words  '•'Darlington^  ■zcarranfec^,"  stamped 
very  legibly  on  the  side. 

"  Yes,  but  /  don't  warrant  it ;  it's  Darlington  that 
warrants  it.  I  presume,  if  you  take  it  to  his  manufac- 
tory, he'll  exchange  it  for  you." 

Darlington's  manufactory  was  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  off,  and  in  another  State.  Terry  hesitated  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then  said  that  he  thought  the  Colonel 
ought  to  take  it  back,  as  he  sold  it  to  him  for  a  good 
axe.  Mr.  Shubael  seemed  very  unwilling  to  do  anything 
about  it.  He  talked  of  the  trouble  and  expense  of  send- 
ing the  axe  back,  and  finally  told  the  man,  winking  at 
the  same  time  at  the  bystanders,  that  he  would  give  him 
a  dollar  for  it,  out  of  the  store,  and  run  the  chance  of 
selling  it  or  getting  it  changed. 

"  Why,"  said  Terry,  "  that's  very  hard  ;  I  paid  a  dol- 
lar and  a  half  for  it,  and  then  there's  the  handle  besides, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  putting  it  in.  But  it  will  cost  me 
a  good  deal  to  get  it  back  to  Darlington's,  and  the 
handle  must  come  out  to  harden  it." 

Terry  at  length  accepted  the  offer,  took  up  the 
amount  in  spirits  and  sugar,  and  left  the  store,  jug  in 
hand.  As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  the  loungers  came  in, 
and  gave  vent  to  bursts  of  laughter,  which  they  had 
contrived  to  suppress  while  the  bargain  was  going  on, 
while  the  colonel,  with  a  smile  of  self-satisfaction  and  a 
nod  and  a  wink,  went  round  to  his  desk,  and  began  to 
look  into  his  ledger. — Hoary  head  and  McDonner. 


ABBOTT,  John  Stevens  Cabot,  an  American 
Congregational  clergyman  and  historical  writer, 
brother  of  Jacob  Abbott,  born  at  Brunswick,  Me., 
September  i8,  1805,  died  at  Fair  Haven,  Conn., 
June  17,  1877.  He  was  educated  at  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege and  at  Andover  Theological  Seminary,  and 
became  pastor  of  Congregational  churches  in 
various  parts  of  Massachusetts.  In  1844  he  relin- 
quished the  regular  pastoral  office  (although  he 
preached  at  intervals  during  his  whole  life)  in 
order  to  devote  himself  to  authorship,  of  which 
he  had  already  made  a  beginning  by  \\\'S>  Mother  at 
Hotne,  Child  at  Hotne,  and  other  religious  works. 
Subsequently  he  devoted  himself  mainly  to  works 
of  a  historical  character.  He  wrote  a  number  of 
small  biographies  ranging  over  a  wide  field.  Of 
his  larger  works  the  principal  are  :  Kings  and 
Queens  ;  or,  Life  iyi  the  Palace  ;  The  French  Revolu- 
tion of  17 Sp  ;  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  ; 
Napoleon  at  St.  Helena  ;  The  History  of  Napoleon 
HI.;  History  of  the  Civil  War  in  America;  Ro- 
mance of  Spanish  History  ;  The  History  of  Frederick 
the  Second,  of  Prussia  ;  The  History  of  Christianity, 
and  American  Pioneers  and  Patriots.  The  style 
of  Mr.  Abbott  is  always  animated  and  picturesque, 
though  not  unfrequently  somewhat  inflated.  The 
most  popular  of  his  works  is  the  History  of  Napo- 
leon, for  whom  he  cherished  the  warmest  admira- 


28  JOHN  STEVENS   CABOT  ABBOTT 

tion,  ascribing  to  him  not  only  capacities  of  the 
highest  order,  but  more  virtues  and  fewer  faults 
than  are  often  found  in  a  human  being. 

THE   CHARACTER    OF    NAPOLEON. 

The  history  of  Napoleon  has  often  been  written  by 
his  enemies.  This  narrative  is  from  the  pen  of  one 
who  reveres  and  loves  the  Emperor.  The  writer  ad- 
mires Napoleon  because  he  abhorred  war,  and  did 
everything  in  his  power  to  avert  that  dire  calamity  ; 
because  he  merited  the  sovereignty  to  which  the  suf- 
frages of  a  grateful  nation  elevated  him  ;  because  he 
consecrated  the  most  extraordinary  energies  ever  con- 
ferred upon  a  mortal  to  promote  the  prosperity  of  his 
country ;  because  he  was  regardless  of  luxury,  and 
cheerfully  endured  all  toil  and  hardships  that  he  might 
elevate  and  bless  the  masses  of  mankind  ;  because  he 
had  a  high  sense  of  honor,  revered  religion,  respected 
the  rights  of  conscience,  and  nobly  advocated  equality 
of  privileges  and  the  universal  brotherhood  of  man. 
Such  was  the  true  character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

The  world  has  been  bewildered  by  the  contradictory 
views  which  have  been  presented  of  Napoleon.  Hos- 
tile historians  have  stigmatized  him  as  a  usurper,  while 
admitting  that  the  suffrages  of  the  nation  placed  him 
on  the  throne.  They  have  denounced  him  as  a  tyrant 
inexorable  as  a  Nero,  while  admitting  that  he  won  the 
adoring  love  of  his  subjects.  He  is  called  a  bloodthirsty 
monster,  delighting  in  war,  yet  it  is  confessed  that  he 
was,  in  almost  every  conflict,  struggling  in  self-defence, 
and  imploring  peace.  It  is  said  that  his  insatiable 
ambition  led  him  to  trample  remorselessly  upon  the 
rights  of  other  nations,  while  it  is  confessed  that  Eu- 
rope was  astonished  by  his  moderation  and  generosity 
in  every  treaty  which  he  made  with  his  vanquished 
foes.  He  is  described  as  a  human  butcher,  reckless  of 
suffering,  who  regarded  his  soldiers  merely  as  food  for 
powder ;  and  yet,  on  the  same  page,  we  are  told  that 
he  wept  over  the  carnage  of  the  battle-field,  tenderly 
pressed  the   hand  of  the  dying,  and  won   from   those 


JOHN  STEVENS   CABOT  ABBOTT  29 

soldiers  who  laid  down  their  lives  in  his  service  a  fervor 
of  love  which  earth  has  never  seen  paralleled. 

It  is  recorded  that  France  at  last  became  weary  of 
him,  and  drove  him  from  the  throne  ;  and  in  the  next 
paragraph  we  are  informed  that,  as  soon  as  the  bay- 
onets of  the  Allies  had  disappeared  from  France,  the 
whole  nation  rose  to  call  him  back  from  his  exile,  with 
unanimity  so  unprecedented  that,  without  shedding  one 
drop  of  blood,  he  traversed  the  whole  of  France,  entered 
Paris,  and  reascended  the  throne.  It  is  affirmed  that 
a  second  time  France,  weary  of  his  despotism,  expelled 
him  ;  and  yet  it  is  at  the  same  time  recorded  that  this 
same  France  demanded  of  his  executioners  his  beloved 
remains,  received  them  with  national  enthusiasm,  con- 
signed them  to  a  tomb  in  the  very  bosom  of  its  capital, 
and  has  reared  over  them  such  a  mausoleum  as  honors 
the  grave  of  no  other  mortal.  Such  is  Napoleon  as  de- 
scribed by  his  enemies. 

The  reason  is  obvious  why  the  character  of  Napoleon 
should  have  been  maligned  :  He  was  regarded  justly 
as  the  foe  of  Aristocratic  Privilege.  The  English  oli- 
garchy was  determined  to  crush  him.  After  deluging 
Europe  in  blood  and  woe,  during  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  io^  the  accomplishment  of  this  end,  it  became 
necessary  to  prove  to  the  world — and  especially  to  the 
British  people,  who  were  tottering  under  the  burden  of 
taxes  which  these  wars  engendered — that  Napoleon  was 
a  tyrant,  threatening  the  liberties  of  the  world,  and  that 
he  deserved  to  be  crushed.  All  the  Allies  who  were  ac- 
complices in  this  iniquitous  crusade  were  alike  interest- 
ed in  consigning  to  the  world's  execration  the  name  of 
their  victim  ;  and  even  in  France  the  reinstated  Bour- 
bons, sustained  upon  the  throne  by  the  bayonets  of  the 
Allies,  silenced  every  voice  which  would  speak  in  favor 
of  the  Monarch  of  the  People,  and  rewarded  with  smiles 
and  opulence  and  honor  all  who  would  pour  contempt 
upon  his  name.  Thus  we  have  the  unprecedented  spec- 
tacle of  all  the  monarchies  of  Europe  most  deeply  in- 
terested in  calumniating  one  single  man,  and  that  man 
deprived  of  the  possibility  of  reply. — Preface  to  the  His- 
tory of  Napoleon. 


3°  JOHN  STEVENS  CABOT  ABBOTT 


PARTING  OF  NAPOLEON  AND  JOSEPHINE. 

Josephine  remained  in  her  chamber  overwhehned 
with  speechless  grief.  A  sombre  night  darkened  over 
the  city,  oppressed  by  the  gloom  of  this  cruel  sacrifice. 
The  hour  arrived  at  which  Napoleon  usually  retired  for 
sleep.  The  Emperor,  restless  and  wretched,  had  just 
placed  himself  in  the  bed  from  which  he  had  ejected  his 
faithful  and  devoted  wife,  when  the  private  door  of 
his  chamber  was  slowly  opened,  and  Josephine,  trem- 
bling, entered.  Her  eyes  were  swollen  with  weeping, 
her  hair  disordered,  and  she  appeared  in  all  the  dis- 
habille of  unutterable  anguish.  Hardly  conscious  of 
what  she  did  in  the  delirium  of  her  woe,  she  tottered  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  approached  the  bedside  of 
her  former  husband.  Then  irresolutely  stopping,  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears.  A  feeling  of  delicacy  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
have  arrested  her  steps — a  consciousness  that  she  had 
no7i>  no  right  to  enter  the  chamber  of  Napoleon.  In 
another  moment  all  the  pent-up  love  in  her  heart  burst 
forth  ;  and  forgetting  everything  in  the  fulness  of  her 
anguish,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  clasped  Na- 
poleon's neck  in  her  arms,  and  exclaiming,  "My  hus- 
band! my  husband!"  sobbed  as  though  her  heart  were 
breaking.  The  imperial  spirit  of  Napoleon  was  entirely 
vanquished.  He  also  wept  convulsively.  He  assured 
Josephine  of  his  love — of  his  ardent  and  undying  love. 
In  every  way  he  tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  her.  For 
some  time  they  remained  locked  in  each  other's  em- 
brace. The  valet-de-chambre,  who  was  still  present, 
was  dismissed,  and  for  an  hour  Napoleon  and  Josephine 
continued  together  in  their  last  private  interview. 
Josephine  then,  in  the  experience  of  an  intensity  of  an- 
guish such  as  few  human  hearts  have  ever  known,  parted 
forever  from  the  husband  whom  she  had  so  long  and  so 
faithfully  loved.  An  attendant  entered  the  apartment 
of  Napoleon  to  remove  the  lights.  He  found  the  Em- 
peror so  buried  beneath  the  bed-clothes  as  to  be  invisi- 
ble. Not  a  word  was  uttered.  The  lights  were  removed, 
and  the  unhappy  monarch  was   left  alone,   in   darkness 


JOHN  STEVENS   CABOT  ABBOTT  31 

and  silence,  to  the  melancholy  companionship  of  his  own 
thoughts.  The  next  morning  the  deathlike  pallor  of  his 
cheek,  his  sunken  eye,  and  the  haggard  expression  of 
his  countenance,  attested  that  the  Emperor  had  passed 
the  night  in  sleeplessness  and  in  suffering. — History  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte. 


THE   DEATH   OF    ROBESPIERRE. 

The  day  was  just  beginning  to  dawn  as  the  long  file 
of  prisoners  was  led  into  the  Place  de  Greve  to  be  con- 
ducted to  the  hall  of  the  Convention.  First  came 
Robespierre,  borne  by  four  men  on  a  litter.  His  fract- 
ured jaw  was  bound  up  by  a  handkerchief,  which  was 
steeped  in  blood.  .  .  .  He  was  laid  upon  a  table  in 
an  ante-room,  while  an  interminable  crowd  pressed  in 
and  around  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  fallen  Dictator.  The 
unhappy  man  was  overwhelmed  with  reproaches  and 
insults,  and  feigned  death  to  escape  this  mortal  torture. 
The  blood  was  freely  flowing  from  his  wound,  coagu- 
lating in  his  mouth,  and  choking  him  as  it  trickled  down 
his  throat.  The  morning  was  intensely  hot.  Not  a 
breath  of  pure  air  could  the  wounded  man  inhale.  In- 
satiable thirst  and  a  burning  fever  consumed  him  ;  and 
thus  he  remained  for  more  than  an  hour,  enduring  the 
intensest  pangs  of  bodily  and  mental  anguish. 

By  order  of  the  Convention,  he  and  his  confederates 
were  then  removed  to  the  Committee  of  General  Safety 
for  examination  ;  from  which  tribunal  they  were  sent  to 
the  Conciergerie,  where  they  were  all  thrown  into  the 
same  dungeon  to  await  their  trial,  which  was  immedi- 
ately to  take  place  before  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal. 
A  few  hours  of  pain,  anguish,  and  despair  passed  away, 
when  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  whole  party 
were  conveyed  to  that  merciless  Court,  which  was  but 
the  last  stepping-stone  to  death.  The  trial  lasted  but 
a  few  moments.  They  were  already  condemned,  and  it 
was  only  necessary  to  prove  their  identity.  The  Con- 
vention was  victorious,  and  no  man  of  the  Revolution- 
ary Tribunal  dared  to  resist  its  will.  Had  the  Com- 
mune of  Paris  conquered  in  this  strife,  the  obsequious 


32  JOHN  STEVENS   CABOT  ABBOTT 

Tribunal  with  equal  alacrity  would  have  consigned  the 
deputies  to  the  guillotine. 

At  five  o'clock  the  carts  of  the  condemned  received 
the  prisoners.  The  long  procession  advanced  through 
the  Rue  St.  Honore  to  the  Place  de  la  Revolution. 
The  fickle  crowd  thronged  the  streets,  heaping  im- 
precations upon  the  man  to  whom  they  would  have 
shouted  hosanna  had  he  been  a  victor.  Robespierre, 
his  brother,  Couthon,  Henriot — all  mangled,  bleeding, 
and  with  broken  bones — were  thrown  into  the  first  cart 
with  the  corpse  of  Lebas.  As  the  cart  jolted  over  the 
pavement,  shrieks  of  anguish  were  extorted  from  the 
victims.  At  six  o'clock  they  reached  the  steps  of  the 
guillotine.  Robespierre  ascended  the  scaffold  with  a 
firm  step,  but  as  the  executioner  brutally  tore  the 
bandage  from  his  inflamed  wound,  he  uttered  a  shriek 
of  torture  which  pierced  every  ear.  The  dull,  sullen 
sound  of  the  falling  axe  was  heard,  and  the  head  of 
Robespierre  fell  ghastly  into  the  basket.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence  ;  and  then  the  crowd  raised  a  shout 
as  if  a  great  victory  had  been  achieved,  and  the  long- 
sought  blessings  of  the  Revolution  attained.  Thus  died 
Robespierre,  in  the  thirty-fifth  year  of  his  age.  His 
character  will  probably  remain  a  mystery. —  T/ie  Fremh 
Revolution. 

The  Abbott  brothers  have  done  immense  ser- 
vice to  the  cause  of  education  by  their  successful 
efforts  to  render  historical  books  attractive  to  the 
young. 


LYMAN  ABBOTT. 


p:ja5S3a5?S-Js::t.7.-z:^.A^ 


ABBOTT,  Lyman,  an  American  Congregational 
clergyman,  religious  writer,  and  journalist,  son  of 
Jacob  Abbott,  was  born  at  Roxbury,  Mass.,  Decem- 
ber i8,  1835.  He  graduated  at  the  University  of  the 
City  of  New  York  in  1853;  studied  law  with  his 
elder  brothers,  Benjamin  and  Austin  Abbott,  who 
in  conjunction  with  him  wrote  two  clever  novels, 
Concent  Corners  and  Matthew  Carnaby,  which  were 
published  under  the  nom  de  phwie  of  "  Benauly," 
made  up  of  the  initial  syllable  of  the  names  of  each 
of  the  writers.  He  subsequently  studied  theology 
under  his  uncle,  John  S.  C.  Abbott,  and  was  pas- 
tor of  Congregational  churches  in  various  parts 
of  the  country.  About  1869  he  began  to  devote 
himself  especially  to  literature,  in  editorial  con- 
nection with  a  number  of  periodicals,  although  he 
continued  to  preach  not  unfrequently.  In  1876 
he  became  associate  editor  of  the  Christian  Ufiion 
(changed  to  the  Outlook  in  1893),  and  in  1881  its 
editor-in-chief.  On  the  death  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  he  was  requested  to  take  charge  tempo- 
rarily of  Plymouth  Church,  and  in  1888  was  in- 
stalled as  its  permanent  pastor.  He  has  also 
written  many  separate  works,  among  which  are : 
The  Results  of  Emancipation  in  the  United  States ; 
Old  Testament  Shadows  of  Neiv  Testa^nent  Truths ; 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  :  His  Life  and  Teachi?igSy  and  a 
Dictionary  of  Religious  Knowledge.  His  later 
Vol.  I.— 3  (33 >! 


-4  LYMAN  ABBOTT 

works  are :  An  Illustrated  Commentary  on  the  New 
Testament,  Life  of  Heriry  Ward Beecher,  In  Aid  of 
Faith,  a  commentary  on  The  Epistle  of  Paid  to 
the  Romans,  Signs  of  Pro?nise,  and  The  Evolution 
of  Christianity, 

THE   DESTRUCTION   OF  THE   CITIES  OF   THE   PLAIN. 

The  story  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  epitomizes  the 
Gospel.  Every  act  in  the  great,  the  awful  drama  of 
life,  is  here  foreshadowed.  The  analogy  is  so  perfect 
that  we  might  almost  be  tempted  to  believe  that  the 
story  is  a  prophetic  allegory,  did  not  nature  itself  wit- 
ness its  historic  truthfulness.  The  fertile  plain  con- 
tained, embedded  in  its  own  soil,  the  elements  of  its  own 
destruction.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  this  is 
true  of  this  world  on  which  we  live.  A  few  years  ago 
an  unusually  brilliant  star  was  observed  in  a  certain 
quarter  of  the  heavens.  At  first  it  was  thought  to  be 
a  newly  discovered  sun  ;  more  careful  examination  re- 
sulted in  a  different  hypothesis.  Its  evanescent  char- 
acter indicated  combustion.  Its  brilliancy  was  marked 
for  a  few  hours — a  few  nights  at  most — then  it  faded, 
and  was  gone.  Astronomers  believe  that  it  was  a 
burning  world.  Our  own  earth  is  a  globe  of  living 
fire.  Only  a  thin  crust  intervenes  between  us  and  this 
fearful  interior.  Ever  and  anon,  in  the  rumbling  earth- 
quake, or  the  sublime  volcano^  it  gives  us  warning  of  its 
presence.  These  are  themselves  gospel  messengers. 
They  say  if  we  would  but  hear  them — "  Prepare  to  meet 
thy  God."  The  in  imations  of  Science  confirm  those  of 
Revelation  :  "  The  heavens  and  the  earth  .  .  .  are 
kept  in  store,  reserved  unto  fire  against  the  Day  of 
Judgment  and  perdition  of  ungodly  men."  What  was 
true  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah — what  was  true  of  the 
earth  we  live  on — is  true  of  the  human  soul.  It  con- 
tains within  itself  the  instruments  of  its  own  punish- 
ment. There  is  a  fearful  significance  in  the  words  of 
the  Apostle  :  "After  thy  hardness  and  impenitent  heart 
treasureth  up  to  thyself  wrath  against  the  dav  of  wrath." 


LYMAN  ABBOTT  35 

Men  gather,  with  their  own  hands,  the  fuel  to  feed  the 
flame  that  is  not  quenched ;  they  nurture  in  their  own 
bosoms  the  worm  that  dieth  not.  In  habits  formed 
never  to  be  brolcen  ;  in  words  spoken,  incapable  of  re- 
call ;  in  deeds  committed,  never  to  be  forgotten  ;  in  a 
life  wasted  and  cast  away  that  can  never  be  made  to 
bloom  again,  man  prepares  for  himself  his  own  deserved 
and  inevitable  chastisement.  "  Son,  remember  !  " — to 
the  soul  who  has  spent  its  all  in  riotous  living,  there 
can  be  no  more  awful  condemnation.  —  Old  Testament 
Shadows. 

THE   JESUITS. 

Jesuits  is  the  popular  name  of  a  Society  more  proper- 
ly entitled  "The  Society  of  Jesus  " — of  all  the  Religious 
Orders  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  the  most  impor- 
tant. The  Society  of  Jesus  was  founded  in  1554  by 
Ignatius  Loyola.  He  was  a  Spanish  cavalier ;  was 
wounded  in  battle  ;  was  by  his  wounds,  which  impaired 
the  use  of  one  of  his  legs,  deprived  of  his  military  ambi- 
tion, and  during  his  long  confinement  found  employment 
and  relief  in  reading  a  Life  of  Christ,  and  Lives  of  the 
Saints.  This  enkindled  a  new  ambition  for  a  life  of  re- 
ligious glory  and  religious  conquest.  He  threw  himself, 
with  all  the  ardor  of  his  old  devotion,  into  his  new  life  ; 
carried  his  military  spirit  of  austerity  and  self-devotion 
into  his  religious  career  ;  exchanged  his  rich  dress  for 
a  beggar's  rags  ;  lived  upon  alms  ;  practised  austeri- 
ties which  weakened  his  iron  frame,  but  not  his  military 
spirit ;  and  thus  he  prepared  his  mind  for  those  diseased 
fancies  which  characterized  this  period  of  his  extraordi- 
nary career. 

He  possessed  none  of  the  intellectual  requirements 
which  seemed  necessary  for  the  new  leadership  which 
he  proposed  to  himself.  The  age  despised  learning, 
and  left  it  to  the  priests  ;  and  this  Spanish  cavalier,  at 
the  age  of  thirty-three,  could  do  little  more  than  read 
and  write.  He  commenced  at  once,  with  enthusiasm, 
the  acquisition  of  those  elements  of  knowledge  which 
are  ordinarily  acquired  long  before  that  age.  He  en- 
tered the  lowest  class  of  the  College  of  Barcelona, 
where   he   was  persecuted  and  derided    by   the   rich 


36  LVA/A.V  ylBB07'r 

ecclesiastics,  to  whose  luxury  his  self-denial  was  a  per- 
petual reproach.  He  fled  at  last  from  their  machi- 
nations to  Paris,  where  he  continued  his  studies  under 
more  favorable  auspices.  Prominent  among  his  associ- 
ates here  was  Francis  Xavier,  a  brilliant  scholar,  who 
at  first  shrunk  from  the  ill-educated  soldier  ;  yet  grad- 
ually learned  to  admire  his  intense  enthusiasm,  and 
then  to  yield  allegiance  to  it  and  its  possessor.  Several 
other  Spaniards  were  drawn  around  the  ascetic.  At 
length,  in  1534,  Loyola  and  five  associates  in  a  sub- 
terranean chapel  in  Paris,  pledged  themselves  to  a  re- 
lijrious  life,  and  with  solemn  rites  made  sacred  their 
mutual  pledges  to  each  other  and  to  God. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Order  of  the  Jesuits. 
The  original  design  was  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land, 
and  a  mission  for  the  conversion  of  Infidels.  But  as  all 
access  to  the  Holy  Land  was  precluded  by  a  war  with 
the  Turks,  Loyola  and  his  associates  soon  turned  their 
thoughts  to  a  more  comprehensive  organization,  spe- 
cially designed  to  meet  those  exigencies  which  the 
Reformation  had  brought  upon  the  Church. 

Loyola  introduced  into  the  new  Order  of  which  he 
was  the  founder  the  principle  of  absolute  obedience 
which  he  had  acquired  in  his  military  career.  The 
name  given  to  its  chief  was  the  military  title  of  "  Gen- 
eral." The  organization  was  not  perfected,  so  as  to  re- 
ceive the  sanction  of  the  Pope,  until  154X.  Its  motto 
was  Ad  Alajoretn  Dei  Gloriam — "  To  the  greater  Glory 
of  God."  Its  vows  embraced  not  only  the  obligations 
of  Chastity,  Poverty,  and  Obedience,  but  also  a  pledge 
on  the  part  of  every  member  to  go  as  missionary  to 
any  country  which  the  Pope  might  designate.  Loyola 
was  himself  the  first  General  of  the  new  Order.  Its 
Constitution,  due  to  him,  is  practically  that  of  an  Abso- 
lute Monarchy.  The  General  is  elected  by  a  General 
Congregation,  selected  for  the  purpose  by  the  whole 
body  of  professed  members  of  the  various  Provinces. 
He  holds  his  office  for  life.  A  Council  of  Assistants 
aid  him,  but  he  is  not  bound  by  their  vote.  He  may 
not  alter  the  Constitution  of  the  Society  ;  and  he  is 
subject  to  deposition  in  certain  contingencies  ;  but  no 
instance  of  the  deposition  of  a  General   has  ever  oc- 


LYMAN'  ABBOTT 


37 


curred.     Practically  his  will  is  absolute  law,  from  which 
there  is  no  appeal. 

The  Jesuits  are  not  distinguished  by  any  particular 
dress  or  peculiar  practices.  They  are  permitted  to 
mingle  with  the  world,  and  to  conform  to  its  habits, 
if  necessary  for  the  attainment  of  their  ends.  Their 
widest  influence  has  been  exhibited  in  political  circles, 
where,  as  laymen,  they  have  attained  the  highest  political 
positions  without  exciting  any  suspicion  of  their  connec- 
tion with  the  Society  of  Jesus ;  and  in  education  they  have 
been  employed  as  teachers,  in  which  position  they  have 
exercised  an  incalculable  influence  over  the  Church. 
.  .  .  It  should  be  added  that  the  enemies  of  the 
Order  allege  that,  in  addition  to  the  public  and  avowed 
Constitution  of  the  Society,  there  is  a  secret  code, 
called  Monita  Secreta — "  Secret  Instructions"— which  is 
reserved  exclusively  for  the  private  guidance  of  the 
more  advanced  members.  But  as  this  secret  code 
is  disavowed  by  the  Society — and  since  its  authority  is 
at  least  doubtful — it  is  not  necessary  to  describe  it  here 
in  detail. — Dictionary  of  Religious  Knowledge. 


A  BECKETT,  Gilbert  Abbott,  a  British 
humorist,  born  in  London,  January  9,  181 1 ;  died  at 
Boulogne,  France,  August  30,  1856.  He  wrote  bur- 
lesque dramas  while  a  mere  boy,  several  of  which 
were  published  before  he  had  reached  the  age  of 
fifteen.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  Punch 
(1841),  to  which  he  was  a  frequent  contributor,  as 
well  as  to  other  journals.  In  1849  ^^  ^'^^  ap- 
pointed a  police  magistrate,  and  executed  the 
duties  of  his  oflfiice  with  marked  ability.  After 
his  death  a  pension  of  ^^loo  was  granted  to  his 
widow. — His  son,  Arthur  William  a  Beckett, 
born  in  1844,  entered  the  civil  service  at  the  age 
of  seventeen,  but  he  soon  abandoned  it  to  engage 
in  various  literary  occupations;  and  in  1874  he 
was  placed  on  the  editorial  staff  of  Punch,  having 
in  the  meanwhile  been  called  to  the  bar.  He  is 
the  author  of  man}?-  novels  and  dramas,  some  of 
them  decidedly  clever.  Among  his  tales  are : 
Fallen  Among  Thieves  (1870),  The  Moderjt  Arabian 
Nights  (1875),  Our  Holiday  in  the  Scottish  Highlands 
(1876),  The  Ghost  of  Graystone  Grange  (1877),  The 
Mystery  of  Mostyn  Mattor  (1878).  Among  his  come- 
dies are:  About  Town  (1873),  which  had  a  run  of 
150  nights;  Father  and  Son  (1881),  Long  Ago 
(1882),  Tracked  Out  (1888),  On  Strike,  Faded  Flow- 
ers^ and  L.  S.  D.  He  was  special  correspondent 
of   the   Standard  and    Globe  during  the  Franco- 


GILBERT  ABBOTT  A    BECKETT  39 

German  War.  He  also  published  Papers  from 
PiunpJiandle  Court,  by  A  Briefless  Junior  (1889), 
and  edited  and  produced  The  Maske  of  Flower,  in 
honor  of  the  Queen's  Jubilee. — The  principal 
works  of  the  elder  k  Beckett  are :  The  Comic 
History  of  England,  The  Comic  History  of  Rome, 
and  The  Comic  Blackstone.  He  was  looked  upon 
as  one  of  the  wittiest  writers  of  the  day.  The 
travesty  of  Blackstone,  in  which  the  treatise  of 
that  great  light  of  the  law  is  followed  step  by 
step,  ranks  among  the  highest  works  of  that 
class. 

CORONATION    OF    HENRY    IV. 

A  week's  adjournment  took  place  to  prepare  for  the 
coronation,  which  came  off  on  the  13th  of  October,  in 
a  style  of  splendor  which  Froissart  has  painted  gor- 
geously with  his  six-pound  brush  and  which  we  will 
attempt  to  pick  out  with  our  own  slender  camel's-hair. 
On  the  Saturday  before  the  coronation,  forty-six  squires, 
who  were  to  be  made  knights,  took  each  a  bath,  and 
had  in  fact  a  regular  good  Saturday  night's  wash,  so 
that  they  might  be  nice  and  clean  to  receive  the  honor 
designed  for  them.  On  Sunday  morning,  after  church, 
they  were  knighted  by  the  king,  who  gave  them  all  new 
coats,  a  proof  that  their  wardrobes  could  not  have  been 
in  a  very  flourishing  condition.  After  dinner  his  Maj- 
esty returned  to  Westminster,  bare-headed,  with  noth- 
ing on,  according  to  Froissart,*  but  a  pair  of  gaiters  and 
a  German  jacket.  The  streets  of  London  were  deco- 
rated with  tapestry  as  he  passed,  and  there  were  nine 
fountains  in  Cheapside  running  with  white  and  red  wine, 
though  we  think  our  informant  has  been  drawing  rather 
copiously  upon  his  own  imagination  for  the  generous 
liquor.  The  cavalcade  comprised,  according  to  the 
same  authority,  six  thousand  horse  ;  but  again  we  are 
of  opinion  that  Froissart  must  have  found  some  mare's 

*  Vol.  II.,  page  699,  edition  1842. 


40  GILBERT  ABBOTT  A    BECKETT 

nest  from  which  to  suppl}^  a  stud  of  such  wondrous 
magnitude.  The  king  took  a  bath  on  the  same  night, 
in  order  perhaps  to  wash  out  the  port-wine  stains  that 
might  have  fallen  upon  him  while  passing  the  fountains. 
"Call  me  early  if  you're  waking,"  were  the  king's  last 
words  to  his  valet,  and  in  the  morning  the  coronation 
procession  started  for  the  Abbey  of  Westminster. 
Henry  walked  under  a  blue  silk  canopy,  supported  on 
silver  staves,  with  golden  bells  at  each  corner,  and  car- 
ried by  four  burgesses  of  Dover,  who  claimed  it  as  then- 
right,  for  the  loyalty  of  the  Dover  people  was  in  those 
days  inspired  only  by  the  hope  of  a  perquisite.  The 
king  might  have  got  wet  through  to  the  skin  before 
they  would  have  held  a  canopy  over  him,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  value  of  the  silver  staves  and  golden  bells, 
which  became  their  property  for  the  trouble  of  porter- 
age. On  each  side  were  the  sword  of  Mercy  and  the 
sword  of  Justice,  though  these  articles  must  have  been 
more  for  ornament  than  for  use,  in  those  days  of  regal 
cruelty  and  oppression. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  king  entered  the  Abbey,  in  the 
middle  of  which  a  platform,  covered  with  scarlet  cloth, 
had  been  erected  ;  so  that  the  proceedings  might  be 
visible  from  all  corners  of  the  Abbey.  He  seated  him- 
self on  the  throne,  and  was  looking  remarkably  well, 
being  in  full  regal  costume,  with  the  exception  of  the 
crown,  which  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  proposed 
to  invest  him  with.  The  people,  on  being  asked  wheth- 
er the  ceremony  should  be  performed,  of  course 
shouted  "  Aye,"  for  they  had  come  to  see  a  coronation 
and  were  not  likely  to  deprive  themselves  of  the  spec- 
tacle by  becoming,  at  the  last  moment,  hypercritical  of 
the  new  king's  merits.  We  cannot  say  we  positively 
know  there  was  no  "No,"  but  the  "Ayes"  unquestion- 
ably had  it  ;  and  Henry  was  at  once  taken  off  the 
throne  to  be  stripped  to  his  shirt,  which,  in  the  middle 
of  the  month  of  October,  could  not  have  been  very 
agreeable  treatment.  After  saturating  him  in  oil,  they 
put  upon  his  head  a  bonnet,  and  then  proceeded  to 
dress  him  up  as  a  priest,  adding  a  pair  of  spurs  and  the 
sword  of  Justice.  While  his  Majesty  was  in  this  motley 
costume,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  clutching  off 


GILBERT  ABBOTT  A   BECKETT  41 

the  bonnet  from  the  royal  head,  placed  upon  it  the 
crown  of  St.  Edward.  Henry  was  not  sorry  when 
these  harassing  ceremonies  were  at  an  end,  and  having 
left  the  Abbey  to  dress,  returned  to  the  Hall  to  dinner. 
Wine  continued  to  play,  like  ginger-beer,  from  the  foun- 
tain ;  but  the  jets  were  of  the  same  paltry  description 
as  that  which  throws  up  about  a  pint  a  day  in  the 
Temple.  We  confess  that  we  are  extremely  sceptical 
in  reference  to  all  allegations  of  wine  having  been  laid 
on  in  the  public  streets,  particularly  in  those  days,  when 
there  were  neither  turncocks  to  turn  it  on,  nor  pipes 
through  which  to  carry  it.  Even  with  our  present  ad- 
mirable system  of  waterworks,  we  should  be  astonished 
at  an  arrangement  that  would  allow  us  to  draw  our  wine 
from  the  wood  in  the  pavement  of  Cheapside  or  take  it 
fresh  from  the  pipe  as  it  rolled  with  all  its  might  through 
the  main  of  the  New  River.  Whether  the  liquid  could 
be  really  laid  on  may  be  doubtful,  but  that  it  would  not 
be  worth  drinking  cannot  admit  of  a  question.  Under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances,  our  metropolitan 
fountains  could  only  be  made  to  run  with  that  negative 
stuff  to  which  the  name  of  negus  has  been  most  appro- 
priately given.  Let  us,  however,  resume  our  account 
of  the  ceremonial,  from  which,  with  our  heads  full  of 
the  wine  sprinkled  gratuitously  over  the  people,  we 
have  been  led  to  deviate. 

Dinner  was  served  for  the  coronation  party  in  excel- 
lent style,  but  before  it  was  half  over  it  was  varied  by 
an  entree  of  the  most  extraordinary  and  novel  character. 
It  was  after  the  second  course  that  a  courser  came 
prancing  in,  with  a  knight  of  the  name  of  Dymock 
mounted  on  the  top  of  the  animal.  The  expression  of 
Henry's  astonished  countenance  gave  an  extra/Az/,  in  the 
shape  of  calf's  head  surpri^:td,  at  the  top  of  the  royal 
table.  The  wonder  of  Henry  was  somewhat  abated 
when  the  knight  put  into  the  royal  hand  a  written  offer 
to  fight  any  knight  or  gentleman  who  would  maintain 
that  the  new  king  was  not  a  lawful  sovereign.  The 
challenge  was  read  six  times  over,  but  nobody  came 
forward  to  accept  it ;  and  indeed  it  was  nearly  impos- 
sible, for  care  had  been  taken  to  exclude  all  persons 
likely  to  prove  troublesome,  as  it  was  very  desirable  on 


42  GILBERT  ABBOTT  A    BECKETT 

the  occasion  of  a  coronation  to  keep  the  thing  respect- 
able. The  champion  was  then  presented  with  "  some- 
thing to  drink,"  in  a  golden  goblet,  and  pocketed  the 
poculutn  as  a  perquisite. 

Thus  passed  off  the  coronation  of  Henry  IV.,  which 
is  still  further  remarkable  for  a  story  told  about  the  oil 
used  in  a>nointing  the  head  of  the  new  monarch.  This 
precious  precursor  of  all  the  multitudinous  mixtures  to 
which  ingenuity  and  gullibility  have  since  given  their 
heads,  was  contained  in  a  flask  said  to  have  been  pre- 
sented by  a  good  hermit  to  Henry,  Duke  of  Lancaster, 
the  grandson  of  Henry  HI.,  who  gave  it  to  somebody 
else,  until  it  came,  unspilt,  into  the  possession  of  Henry 
of  Bolingbroke.  We  confess  we  reject  the  oil,  with 
which  our  critical  acidity  refuses  to  coalesce,  and  we 
would  almost  as  soon  believe  the  assertion  that  it  was 
a  flask  of  salad  oil  sent  from  the  Holy  Land  by  the 
famous  Saladin. — Comic  History  of  England. 


ABELARD,  Peter,  a  French  scholar,  born 
near  Nantes  in  1079;  died  April  21,  1142.  He  was 
of  a  noble  Breton  family,  but  the  name  by  which 
he  is  known  appears  to  be  merely  a  kind  of  nick- 
name which  was  fastened  upon  him  while  a  student, 
and  adopted  by  him.  He  became  famous  while 
a  mere  youth  for  his  scholastic  attainments;  and 
while  a  young  man  was  the  acknowledged  head  of 
the  "  Nominalists"  in  their  victorious  controversy 
with  the  "  Realists."  He  set  up  a  philosophical 
school  of  his  own,  and  about  1 1 15  was  placed  in  the 
chair  at  Notre  Dame,  being  also  nominated  as 
Canon.  Within  the  precincts  of  Notre  Dame  was 
a  girl  named  Heloise,  who  was  under  the  care  of 
her  uncle,  the  Canon  Fulbert.  She  was  noted  for 
her  genius  as  well  as  her  beauty,  and  became  a 
pupil  of  Abelard,  who  was  near  forty — more  than 
double  her  age.  Illicit  love  sprung  up  between 
them.  H61oise,  about  to  become  a  mother,  went 
off  with  her  lover.  Abelard  was  eager  to  marry 
her  upon  condition  that  the  marriage  should  be 
kept  a  secret,  so  that  his  prospects  of  ecclesiastical 
preferment  might  not  be  marred.  H61oise  was 
with  difficulty  persuaded  to  grant  this  sacrifice  to 
her  lover ;  and  when  the  marriage  came  to  be  a 
matter  of  public  talk  she  denied  that  it  had  ever 
taken  place,  and  fled  to  a  convent.  Her  uncle,  be- 
lieving that  Abelard  was  trying  to  get  rid  of  his 

^43; 


44  PETER  ABELARD 

wife,  took  a  fearful  vengeance.  He  and  some 
others  broke  into  the  room  of  their  victim  and  in- 
flicted the  most  severe  mutilation  upon  him.  The 
rest  of  the  story  of  Abelard  and  Heloise  reads  like 
a  romance.  He  reappeared  as  a  public  teacher, 
with  greater  success  than  before ;  was  soon 
charged  with  heresy,  and  obliged  to  burn  the 
book  which  he  had  written.  He  fled  into  the 
forest,  built  a  hut  of  stubble  and  reeds,  and  turned 
hermit.  His  retreat  was  discovered,  and  its  neigh, 
borhood  was  thronged  with  students,  who  soon 
carried  him  back  to  Paris,  where  they  built  for 
him  an  oratory  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  the 
Paraclete — the  "  Comforter."  H61oise,  who  had 
become  a  nun,  was  brought  to  the  Paraclete  as 
the  head  of  a  new  religious  house,  of  which  Abe- 
lard was  the  spiritual  director.  Abelard  again 
fell  under  religious  persecution,  and  fled  to  an 
abbey  in  Brittany,  where  he  wrote  his  Historia 
Calamitatiun,  which  called  out  the  three  famous 
epistles  of  H61oise,  in  which  she  finally  accepted 
the  task  of  resignation  which  Abelard  had  com- 
mended to  her.  Abelard  was  in  the  end  twice 
condemned  by  a  Council  for  heres}^  He  appealed 
to  the  Pope,  and  was  on  his  way  to  Rome  to  urge 
his  plea,  when  he  was  stricken  down  by  a  fatal 
sickness.  His  remains  were  secretly  taken  to 
H61oise  at  the  Paraclete,  and  upon  her  death  she 
was  buried  by  his  side.  The  bones  of  this  ill- 
starred  pair  have  been  repeatedly  shifted  from 
place  to  place,  and  they  now  repose  in  a  conspic- 
uous tomb  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  Lachaise.  The 
most   complete   edition   of  Abelard's  works  was 


PETER  ABELARD  45 

published  in  quarto  at  Paris  in  1616.  His  fame  as 
a  scholastic  philosopher  was  in  a  measure  revivi- 
fied when  Cousin,  in  1836,  put  forth  an  edition  of 
his  works,  which  had  for  the  most  part  come  down 
only  in  manuscript.  But  to  all  except  a  few 
readers  he  is  only  known  by  his  singular  connec- 
tion with  Heloise.  The  letters  which  passed  be- 
tween them  in  the  later  years  of  their  lives  have 
been  translated  into  many  languages.  The  main 
purport  of  those  of  Abelard  is  to  reconcile  her  to 
the  monastic  life. 

ABELARD   TO   HfeLOISE. 

In  the  admirable  order  of  Providence,  by  the  very 
means  the  devil  aimed  to  destroy  us,  was  our  Salvation 
effected.  We  were  just  then  united  by  the  indissoluble 
bond  of  marriage.  It  was  my  wish  never  to  be  separat- 
ed from  you  ;  and  at  that  moment  God  projected  to 
draw  us  to  himself.  Had  you  been  tied  by  no  engage- 
ment, when  I  left  the  world,  the  persuasion  of  friends 
or  the  love  of  pleasure  might  easily  have  detained  you 
in  it.  It  seemed,  by  this  care  of  heaven,  as  if  we  had 
been  designed  for  some  important  purpose ;  as  if  it 
were  unbecoming  that  the  literary  talents  we  both  pos- 
sessed should  be  employed  in  other  business  than  in 
celebrating  the  praises  of  our  Maker.  Perhaps  it  was 
feared  that  the  allurements  of  a  woman  would  pervert 
my  heart.     It  was  the  fate  of  Solomon. 

How  many  are  the  blessings  with  which  your  labors 
are  daily  crowned  !  your  spiritual  children  are  numer- 
ous; whilst  I,  alas  !  can  number  none;  and  am  here  in 
vain,  at  St.  Gildas,  preaching  to  these  sons  of  perdition. 
And  would  not,  think  you,  the  loss  have  been  deplora- 
ble, if,  immersed  in  the  deplorable  pleasures  of  the 
world,  in  lieu  of  the  splendid  offspring  you  now  rear  for 
heaven,  you  had  been,  with  pain,  the  mother  only  of  a 
fev/  earthly  children  ?  Then  would  you  have  been  a 
mere  woman  ;  and  now  you  surpass  us  all,  and  now  you 


46  PETER  A  BE  LARD 

change  the  curse  of  Eve  into  the  blessing  of  Mary. 
Those  hands  which  in  holy  occupation  now  turn  over 
the  sacred  volumes,  had  been  unbecomingly  engaged  in 
the  mean  offices  of  domestic  life  !  From  such  unseemly 
occupations  we  have  been  graciously  called,  even  by  a 
holy  violence,  as  was  the  great  apostle.  It  has  been 
meant,  perhaps,  for  an  example  from  which  other 
learned  persons  may  take  warning,  and  not  presume  on 
their  own  strength. 

Be  not  therefore  afflicted,  H^loise,  nor  repine  at  this 
paternal  chastisement.  "God  corrects  whom  he  loves." 
Our  sufferings  are  momentary;  they  are  to  purify,  and 
not  destroy  us.  Listen  to  the  prophet,  and  be  com- 
forted:  "God  will  not  judge,  nor  will  He  twice  punish 
the  same  crime,"  says  he.  Attend  to  the  important  ad- 
vice which  truth  itself  has  given  to  us:  "In  patience 
you  shall  possess  your  souls."  So  says  Solomon:  "The 
patient  man  is  better  than  the  warrior,  and  he  that  is 
the  master  of  his  own  mind  than  the  conqueror  of 
cities." 

Are  you  not  moved  to  compunctions  and  to  tears 
when  you  behold  the  innocent  Son  of  God  suffering 
such  various  torments  for  you  and  for  us  all  ?  Have 
Him  ever  before  your  eyes  ;  carry  Him  in  your  thoughts. 
View  Him  going  out  to  Calvary,  and  bearing  the  heavy 
weight  of  His  cross.  Join  the  company  of  people,  and 
of  the  holy  women  who  lamented  and  wailed  round  Him. 
Learn  to  sympathize  with  His  sufferings  ;  be  early  at  His 
monument,  and  strew  perfumes  on  His  grave.  But  re- 
member, they  be  spiritual  odors ;  and  with  your  tears 
bedew  them. — Berington^s  Translation. 

"  There  are  few  lives  of  literary  men  more  in- 
teresting," says  Hallam,  "  or  more  diversified  by 
success  and  adversity,  by  glory  and  humiliation, 
by  the  admiration  of  mankind  and  the  persecution 
of  enemies,  or  from  which  more  impressive  les- 
sons of  moral  prudence  may  be  derived." 


ABERCROMBIE,  John,  a  Scottish  physician 
and  philosophical  writer,  born  at  Aberdeen,  Oc- 
tober ID,  1780;  died  at  Edinburgh,  November  14, 
1844.  He  was  recognized  as  at  the  head  of  the 
medical  profession  in  Scotland,  and  in  1835  was 
chosen  Lord  Rector  of  Mareschal  College,  Aber- 
deen. Besides  several  medical  works  he  wrote 
Inquiries  Concerning  the  Intellectual  Pozvers  of  Man, 
and  The  Philosophy  of  the  Moral  Feelings ;  the  for- 
mer being  directed  especially  against  the  doc- 
trine of  Materialism.  "On  the  whole,"  says  a 
writer  in  \\\q  North  Anicrica7i  Review,  "this  work 
must  be  considered  as  containing  much  useful 
information.  If  some  of  his  arguments  are 
formed  with  little  attention  to  vigor,  we  must 
remember  that  he  wrote  for  many  who  cannot 
appreciate  a  course  of  reasoning  that  is  not  con- 
ducted in  a  popular  manner." 


MATHEMATICAL    REASONING. 

The  proper  objects  of  mathematical  reasoning  are 
quantity  and  its  relations  ;  and  these  are  capable  of 
being  defined  and  measured  with  a  precision  of  which 
the  objects  of  other  kinds  of  reasoning  are  entirely  un- 
susceptible. It  is  indeed  always  to  be  kept  in  mind  that 
mathematical  reasoning  is  only  applicable  to  subjects 
which  can  be  defined  and  measured  in  this  manner,  and 
that  all  attempts  to  extend  it  to  subjects  of  other  kinds 
have  led  to  the  greatest  absurdities.  Notwithstanding 
the  high  degree   of  precision  which   thus  distinguishes 

U7> 


48  JOHN  ABERCROMBIE 

mathematical  reasoning,  the  study  of  mathematics  does 
not,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  necessarily  lead  to  pre- 
cision in  other  species  of  reasoning,  and  still  less  to 
correct  investigation  in  physical  science.  The  expla- 
nation that  is  given  of  the  fact  seems  satisfactory. 

The  mathematician  argues  certain  conclusions  from 
certain  assumptions,  rather  than  from  actual  ascertained 
facts  ;  and  the  facts  to  which  he  may  have  occasion  to 
refer  are  so  simple,  and  so  free  from  all  extraneous  mat- 
ter, that  their  truth  is  obvious,  or  is  ascertained  with- 
out difficulty.  By  being  conversant  with  truths  of  this 
nature,  he  does  not  learn  that  kind  of  caution  and  se- 
vere examination  which  is  required  in  physical  science, 
for  enabling  us  to  judge  whether  the  statements  on 
which  we  proceed  are  true,  and  whether  they  include 
the  whole  truth  which  ought  to  enter  into  the  investi- 
gation. He  thus  acquires  the  habit  of  too  great  facility 
in  the  admission  of  data  on  premises,  which  is  the  part 
of  every  investigation,  which  the  physical  inquirer 
scrutinizes  with  the  most  anxious  care  ;  and  too  great 
confidence  in  the  mere  force  of  reasoning,  without  ad- 
equate attention  to  the  previous  processes  of  investi- 
gation on  which  all  reasoning  must  be  founded.  It  has 
been  accordingly  remarked  by  Mr.  Stewart,  and  other 
accurate  observers  of  intellectual  character,  that  math- 
ematicians are  apt  to  be  exceedingly  credulous  in  re- 
gard both  to  opinions  and  to  matters  of  testimony  ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  persons  who  are  chiefly  con- 
versant with  the  uncertain  sciences  acquire  a  kind  of 
scepticism  in  regard  to  statements,  which  is  apt  to  lead 
them  into  the  opposite  error.  These  observations  of 
course  apply  only  to  what  we  may  call  a  mere  mathema- 
tician— a  character  which  is  now  probably  rare,  since 
the  close  connection  was  established  between  the  math- 
ematical and  physical  sciences  in  the  philosophy  of 
Newton. — Inquiries  Concerning  the  Intellectual  Powers. 

THEORIES   OF   MORALS. 

In  contemplating  the  conduct  of  men  as  placed  in 
certain  relations  to  each  other,  we  perceive  some  ac- 
tions which  we  pronounce  to  be  rig/it,  and  others  which 


JOHN  ABERCROMDIE  49 

we  pronounce  to  be  wrong.  In  forming  our  opinion  of 
them  in  this  manner,  we  refer  to  the  intc7itions  of  the 
actor  ;  and,  if  we  are  satisfied  that  he  really  intended 
to  do  what  we  perceived  to  be  the  tendenc)^  of  his  con- 
duct, or  even  if  he  purposed  something  which  he  was 
prevented  from  accomplishing,  we  view  him  with  feel- 
ings of  moral  approbation  or  disapprobation ;  or,  in 
other  words,  apply  to  him  the  award  of  praise  or  blame. 
Such  is  our  simple  idea  of  Virtue  or  Vice  ;  as  applied 
either  to  the  act  or  the  agent.  We  have  a  conviction 
that  there  is  a  line  of  conduct  to  which  ourselves  and 
others  are  bound  by  a  certain  kind  of  obligation.  A 
departure  from  this  constitutes  moral  demerit,  or  Vice  ; 
a  correct  observance  of  it  constitutes  Virtue. 

This  appears  to  be  the  simple  view  of  our  primary  im- 
pression of  Vice  and  Virtue,  The  next  question  is, 
what  is  the  origin  of  the  impression  ;  or  on  what  ground 
is  it  that  we  conclude  certain  actions  to  be  right,  and 
others  wrong?  Is  it  merely  from  a  view  of  their  con- 
sequences to  ourselves  or  others  ?  or  do  we  proceed 
upon  an  absolute  conviction  of  certain  conduct  being 
right,  and  certain  other  wrong,  without  carrying  the 
mind  further  than  the  simple  act,  or  the  simple  inten- 
tion of  the  actor^ — without  any  consideration  of  the  effect 
or  tendencies  of  the  action  ?  This  is  the  question  which 
has  been  so  keenly  agitated  in  the  speculations  of  ethi- 
cal science  ;  namely,  respecting  the  origin  and  nature 
of  moral  distinctions. 

On  the  one  hand,  it  is  contended  that  these  moral  im- 
pressions are  in  themselves  immutable,  and  that  an  ab- 
solute connection  of  their  immutability  is  fixed  upon 
U3,  in  that  part  of  our  constitution  which  we  call  Con- 
science ;  in  other  words,  there  is  a  certain  conduct  to 
which  we  are  bound  by  a  feeling  of  obligation,  apart 
from  all  other  considerations  whatever,  and  we  have  an 
impression  that  a  departure  from  this,  in  ourselves  or 
others,  constitutes  Vice.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  main- 
tained that  these  distinctions  are  entirely  arbitrary,  or 
arise  out  of  circumstances  ;  so  that  what  is  Vice  in  one 
case  may  be  Virtue  in  another.  Those  who  have  adopted 
the  latter  hypothesis  have  next  to  explain  what  the 
circumstances  are  which  give  rise,  in  this  manner,  to 
Vol.  I.— 4 


50  JOHN  ABERCROMB2E 

our  impressions  of  Vice  and  Virtue — moral  approbation 
or  disapprobation.  The  various  modes  of  explaining 
this  impression  have  led  to  the  Theories  of  Morals. — 
Philosophy  of  the  Moral  Feelings. 


HUME  S    THEORY. 

According  to  the  Theory  of  Utility,  as  warmly  sup- 
ported by  Mr.  Hume,  we  estimate  the  virtue  of  an 
action  and  an  agent  entirely  by  their  Usefulness.  He 
seems  to  refer  all  our  mental  impressions  to  two  prin- 
ciples, Reason  and  Taste.  Reason  gives  us  simply  the 
knowledge  of  Truth  or  Falsehood,  and  is  no  motive  of 
action.  Taste  gives  an  impression  of  Pleasure  or  Pain, 
and  so  constitutes  Happiness  or  Misery,  and  becomes  a 
motive  of  action.  To  this  he  refers  our  impressions  of 
Beauty  and  Deformity,  Vice  and  Virtue.  He  has,  ac- 
cordingly, distinctly  asserted  that  the  words  "right" 
and  "wrong"  signify  nothing  more  than  "sweet"  or 
"sour,"  "pleasant"  or  "painful,"  being  only  effects 
upon  the  mind  of  the  spectator  produced  by  certain 
conduct ;  and  this  resolves  itself  into  the  impression 
of  its  "  usefulness."  An  obvious  objection  to  this  sys- 
tem of  Utility  was,  that  it  might  be  applied  to  the 
effects  of  inanimate  matter  as  correctly  as  to  the  deeds 
of  a  voluntary  agent.  A  printing-press  or  a  steam- 
engine  might  be  as  meritorious  as  a  man  of  extensive 
virtue.  To  obviate  this,  Mr.  Hume  was  driven  to  a 
distinction  which,  in  fact,  amounted  to  a  giving  up  of 
the  doctrine  ;  namely,  that  the  sense  of  Utility  must  be 
combined  with  a  feeling  of  Obligation.  This  leads  us 
back  to  the  previous  question,  on  what  this  feeling  is 
founded,  and  at  once  recognizes  a  principle  distinct 
from  the  mere  perception  of  Utility.  Virtuous  conduct 
may  indeed  always  contribute  to  general  Utility,  or 
general  Happiness  ;  but  this  is  an  effect  only,  not  the 
cause  or  principle  which  constitutes  it  Virtuous.  This 
important  principle  has  been  well  stated  by  Professor 
Mills,  of  Oxford.  He  defines  Morality  to  be  "  an  obedi- 
ence to  the  law  or  constitution  of  man's  nature,  assigned 
him  by  the   Deity,  in  conformity  to  His  own  essential 


JOHiV  ABERCROMBIE  51 

and  unchangeable  attribute,  the  effect  of  which  is  the 
general  happiness  of  His  creatures." — Philosophy  of  the 
Mffral  Feelings. 

paley's  theory. 

This  eminent  writer  is  decidedly  opposed  to  the  doc- 
trine of  a  Moral  Sense,  or  Moral  Principle  ;  but  the 
system  which  he  proposes  to  substitute  in  its  place 
must  be  acknowledged  to  be  liable  to  considerable  ob- 
jections. He  commences  with  the  proposition  that 
Virtue  is  doing  good  to  mankind,  in  obedience  to  the 
Will  of  God,  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  Happiness. 
The  Good  of  Mankind,  therefore,  is  the  subject,  the 
Will  of  God  the  rule,  and  everlasting  Happiness  the 
motive  of  human  Virtue.  The  Will  of  God,  he  subse- 
quently goes  on  to  show,  is  made  known  to  us  partly 
by  Revelation,  and  partly  by  what  we  discover  of  his 
designs  and  dispositions  from  his  works,  or  as  we  usu- 
ally call  it,  the  Light  of  Nature.  From  this  last  source 
he  thinks  it  is  clearly  to  be  inferred  that  God  wills  and 
wishes  the  happiness  of  His  creatures  ;  consequently, 
actions  which  promote  that  will  and  wish  must  be  agree- 
able to  Him,  and  the  contrary.  The  method  of  ascer- 
taining the  Will  of  God  concerning  any  action,  by  the 
Light  of  Nature,  therefore,  is  to  inquire  into  the  ten- 
dency of  the  action  to  promote  or  diminish  general  hap- 
piness. Proceeding  on  these  grounds,  he  then  arrives 
at  the  conclusion,  that  whatever  is  "expedient"  is 
"  right ;  "  and  that  it  is  the  utility  of  any  moral  rule 
which  constitutes  the  obligation  of  it.  In  his  further 
elucidation  of  this  theory,  Dr.  Paley  admits  that  an 
action  may  be  useful  in  an  individual  case  which  is  not 
right.  To  constitute  it  right,  it  is  necessary  that  it 
shall  be  "expedient  upon  the  whole — at  the  long  run — 
in  all  its  effects,  collateral  and  remote  as  well  as  those 
which  are  immediate  and  direct." — Philosophy  of  th* 
Moral  Feelings. 

THEORY    OF    ADAM    SMITH. 

This  system  is  usually  called  the  Theory  of  Sympathy, 
According  to   this   ingenious  writer,  it  is  required  for 


52  JOHN  ABERCROMBIE 

our  moral  sentiments  respecting  an  action,  that  we 
enter  into  the  feehngs  both  of  the  agent  and  of  him  to 
whom  the  action  relates.  If  we  sympathize  with  the 
feelings  and  intentions  of  the  agent,  we  approve  of  his 
conduct  as  right ;  if  not,  we  consider  it  as  wrong.  If, 
in  the  individual  to  whom  the  action  refers,  we  sympa- 
thize with  a  feeling  of  gratitude,  we  regard  the  agent 
as  worthy  of  praise ;  if  with  a  feeling  of  resent- 
ment, the  contrary.  We  thus  observe  our  feelings  re- 
specting the  conduct  of  others,  in  cases  in  which  we 
are  not  personally  concerned  ;  then  apply  these  rules 
to  ourselves,  and  thus  judge  of  our  own  conduct. 

This  very  obvious  statement,  however,  of  what  every 
man  feels,  does  not  supply  the  place  of  a  fundamental 
rule  of  right  and  wrong.  It  applies  only  to  the  appli- 
cation of  a  principle,  not  to  the  origin  of  it.  Our  sym- 
pathy can  never  be  supposed  to  constitute  an  action, 
right  or  wrong  ;  but  it  enables  us  to  apply  to  individual 
cases  a  principle  of  right  and  wrong  derived  from  an- 
other source  ;  and  to  clear  our  judgment  in  doing  so, 
from  the  blending  influence  of  those  selfish  feelings  by 
which  we  are  so  apt  to  be  misled  when  we  apply  it 
directly  to  ourselves.  In  estimating  our  own  conduct, 
we  then  apply  to  it  those  conclusions  which  we  have 
made  with  regard  to  the  conduct  of  others ;  or  we 
imagine  others  applying  the  same  process  in  regard  to 
us,  and  consider  how  our  conduct  would  appear  to  an 
impartial  observer. — Philosophy  of  the  Moral  Feelings. 

After  having  stated  these  and  other  theories  of 
morals,  and  pointed  out  their  several  errors  and 
deficiencies,  Mr.  Abercrombie  enunciates  his  own 
views  upon  the  matter: 

abercrombie's  theory. 

The  important  distinction  v^^hich  these  observations 
have  been  intended  to  illustrate  may  be  briefly  recapitu- 
lated in  the  following  manner :  The  aspect  of  actions, 
as  right  or  wrong,  is  founded  upon  a  principle  in  the 
human  mind  entirely  distinct  from  the  exercise  of  Rea- 


JOHN  ABERCROMBIE  53 

son  ;  and  the  standard  of  moral  rectitude  derived  from 
this  source  is,  in  its  nature,  fixed  and  immutable.  But 
there  are  many  cases  in  v/hich  the  exercise  of  Reason 
may  be  employed  in  referring  particular  actions  to  this 
standard,  or  trying  them,  as  it  were,  by  it.  Any  such 
mental  process,  however,  is  only  to  be  considered  as  a 
kind  of  test  applied  to  individual  instances,  and  must 
not  be  confounded  with  the  standard  to  v;hich  it  is  the 
office  of  this  test  to  refer  them.  Right  or  virtuous 
conduct  does,  in  point  of  fact,  contribute  to  general 
Utility,  as  well  as  to  the  advantage  of  the  individual, 
in  the  time  and  extended  sense  of  that  term;  and  these 
tendencies  are  perceived  by  the  Reason,  But  it  is 
neither  of  these  which  constitute  it  Right.  This  is 
founded  entirely  on  a  different  principle ;  the  immu- 
table rule  of  Moral  Rectitude.  It  is  perceived  by  a 
different  part  of  our  constitution — the  Moral  Principle, 
or  Conscience  ;  and,  by  the  operation  of  this  principle 
we  pronounce  it  Right,  without  any  reference  to  its  con- 
sequences either  to  ourselves  or  others. — Philosophy  of 
the  Moral  Feelings. 


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ABOUT,  Edmond  -  Francois  -  Valentin,  a 
French  novelist,  journalist,  and  dramatist,  born  at 
Dieuze,  department  of  Meurthe,  February  14, 
1828;  died  in  Paris,  January  17,  1885.  In  1848  he 
won  the  prize  of  honor  at  the  Lyc^e  Charlemagtte, 
and  in  1851  was  sent  to  the  French  School  at 
Athens,  Greece,  where  he  devoted  himself  to 
archasological  studies.  In  1855  he  wrote  La 
Grhe  Coiiteinporaine ;  and  in  the  same  year  pub- 
lished Tolla,  a  novel,  which  was  charged  with 
being  a  plagiarism.  He  received  the  decora- 
tion of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  1858  ;  and  in  the 
following  year  he  put  forth  at  Brussels  the  Ro- 
man Question — which  was  said  to  have  been  in- 
spired by  the  Emperor  Napoleon  III. — in  which 
he  advocated  the  abolition  of  the  temporal 
power  of  the  Pope.  In  the  preface  to  this  work 
he  says:  "If  I  have  sought  a  publisher  in  Brus- 
sels, while  I  had  an  excellent  one  in  Paris,  it  is 
not  because  I  feel  any  alarm  on  the  score  of  the 
regulations  of  our  press,  or  the  severity  of  our 
tribunals.  But  as  the  Pope  has  a  long  arm,  which 
might  reach  me  in  France,  I  have  gone  a  little  out 
of  the  way  to  tell  him  the  plain  truths  contained 
in  these  pages."  In  1866  M.  About  was  commis- 
sioned by  the  Emperor  to  draw  up  a  report  on  the 
state  of  public  opinion  in  France.  Upon  the  break- 
ing out  of  the  Franco-German  War  he  became  a 

1.54) 


EDMOND'FRANqOIS'VALENTIN  ABOUT  55 

war  correspondent  of  the  newspaper  La  Soir,  and 
his  letters  attracted  much  attention.  In  1872 
he  became  editor  of  the  Radical  journal  Le  XIXe 
Sihhy  and  in  the  autumn  of  that  year  was  arrested 
at  Strasbourg  by  the  Germans,  in  consequence  of 
his  work  entitled  Alsace.  In  1873  he  succeeded 
Philar^te  de  Chasles  as  Paris  correspondent  of 
the  London  AthencBum.  The  works  of  M.  About 
cover  a  wide  range  of  topics,  including  fiction, 
the  drama,  and  politics ;  and  many  of  them  have 
been  translated  into  English. 

THE   SPIRITUAL    AND    THE   TEMPORAL   POWER   OF   THE 
POPE. 

The  earliest  Popes  were  not  Kings  and  had  no  bud- 
gets. Consequently  they  had  no  annual  deficits  to  make 
up.  Consequently  they  were  not  obliged  to  borrow 
millions  of  M.  de  Rothschild.  Consequently  they  were 
more  independent  than  the  crowned  Popes  of  more  re- 
cent times.  Ever  since  the  Spiritual  and  the  Temporal 
have  been  joined,  like  two  Siamese  powers,  the  most 
august  of  the  two  has  lost  its  independence.  Every  day, 
or  nearly  so,  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  finds  himself  called 
upon  to  choose  between  the  general  interests  of  the 
Church  and  the  private  interests  of  his  Crown.  Think 
you  that  he  is  sufficiently  estranged  from  the  things  of 
this  world  to  sacrifice  heroically  the  Earth,  which  is 
near,  to  the  Heaven,  which  is  remote  ?  Besides,  we  have 
history  to  help  us.  I  might,  if  I  chose,  refer  to  certain 
bad  Popes  who  were  capable  of  selling  the  dogma  of 
the  Holy  Trinity  for  half-a-dozen  leagues  of  territory  ; 
but  it  would  be  hardly  fair  to  argue  from  bad  Popes  to 
the  confusion  of  indifferent  ones. 

Think  you,  however,  when  the  Pope  legalized  the  per- 
jury of  Francis  I.,  after  the  treaty  of  Madrid,  he  did  it 
to  make  the  morality  of  the  Holy  See  respected,  or  to 
stir  up  a  war  useful  to  his  Crown  "i  When  he  organized 
the  traffic  in  Indulgences,  and  threw  one-balf  of  Europe 


55  EDMOND-FRANCOIS-VALENTIN-  ABOUT 

into  heresy,  was  it  to  increase  the  number  of  Christians, 
or  to  give  a  dowry  to  a  young  lady  ?  .  .  .  When  he 
suppressed  the  Order  of  the  Jesuits,  was  it  to  reinforce 
the  army  of  the  Church,  or  to  please  his  master  in 
France  ?  When  he  terminated  his  relations  with  the 
Spanish-American  provinces  upon  their  proclaiming 
their  independence,  was  it  in  the  interests  of  the  Church 
or  of  Spain  ?     .     .     . 

But  this  union  of  powers,  which  would  gain  by  sepa- 
ration, compromises  not  only  the  independence  but  the 
dignity  of  the  Pope.  The  melancholy  obligation  to 
govern  men  obliges  him  to  touch  many  things  which  he 
had  better  leave  alone.  Is  it  not  deplorable  that  bailiffs 
must  seize  a  debtor's  property  in  the  Pope's  name?  that 
judges  must  condemn  a  murderer  to  death  in  the  name 
of  the  Head  of  the  Church  ?  that  the  executioner  must 
cut  off  heads  in  the  name  of  the  Vicar  of  Christ  ? 
There  is  to  me  something  scandalous  in  the  association 
of  these  two  words,  Pontifical  Lottery.  And  what  can 
the  hundred  and  thirty-nine  millions  of  Catholics  think, 
when  they  hear  their  Spiritual  Sovereign  expressing 
through  his  Finance  Minister,  his  satisfaction  at  the 
progress  of  vice  as  proved  by  the  success  of  the  lotter- 
ies 1—The  Roman  Question,  Translation  of  Co  ape. 

CHARACTER   OF    POPE    PIUS   IX. 

Pius  IX.  plays  his  part  in  the  gorgeous  shows  of  the 
B.oman  Catholic  Church  indifferently  well.  The  faithful 
who  have  come  from  afar  to  see  him  perform  Mass  are 
a  little  surprised  to  see  him  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  the 
midst  of  the  azure-tinted  clouds  of  incense.  In  his  hours 
of  leisure  he  plays  billiards  for  exercise,  by  order  of  his 
physicians.  He  believes  in  God.  He  is  not  only  a  good 
Christian,  but  a  devotee.  His  morals  are  pure  as  they 
always  have  been,  even  when  he  was  a  young  priest.  He 
has  nephews,  who,  wonderful  to  relate,  are  neither  rich 
nor  powerful,  nor  even  Princes ;  and  yet  there  is  no  law 
which  prevents  him  from  spoiling  his  subjects  for  the 
benefit  of  his  family. 

The  character  of  this  respectable  old  man  is  made  up 
of  devotion,  simplicity,  vanity,  weakness,  and  obstinacy, 


EDMOIVD-FRANCOIS-VALENTIN  ABOUT  57 

with  an  occasional  touch  of  rancor.  He  blesses  with 
unction,  and  he  pardons  with  difficulty.  He  is  a  good 
Priest,  and  an  inefficient  King.  His  intellect,  which 
raised  such  great  hopes,  and  caused  such  cruel  disap- 
pointment, is  of  a  very  ordinary  capacity.  The  Romans 
formed  an -exaggerated  opinion  ol  him  at  his  accession, 
and  have  done  so  ever  since.  In  1847,  when  he  hon- 
estly manifested  a  desire  to  do  good,  the}''  called  him  a 
great  man ;  whereas  in  point  of  fact  he  was  simply  a 
worthy  man,  who  wished  to  act  better  than  his  prede- 
cessors had  done,  and  thereby  to  win  some  applause  in 
Europe.  Now  in  1859  he  passes  for  a  violent  reaction- 
ist, because  events  have  discouraged  his  good  inten- 
tions; and,  above  all,  because  Cardinal  Antonelli,  who 
masters  him  by  fear,  violently  draws  him  backward.  I 
consider  him  as  meriting  neither  past  admiration  nor 
present  hatred.  I  pity  him  for  having  loosened  the 
rein  upon  his  people,  without  possessing  the  firmness 
to  restrain  them  seasonably.  I  pity  still  more  that  in- 
firmity of  character  which  allows  more  evil  to  be  done 
in  his  name  than  he  has  ever  himself  done  good.  .  .  . 
Now  he  is  out  of  humor  with  his  people,  with  the 
French,  and  v/ith  himself.  .  .  .  He  knows  the  nation 
is  suffering  ;  but  he  allows  himself  to  be  persuaded  that 
the  misfortunes  of  the  Nation  are  indispensable  to  the 
safety  of  the  Church,  Those  about  him  take  care  that 
the  reproaches  of  his  conscience  shall  be  stifled  by  the 
recollection  of  1848,  and  the  dread  of  a  new  revolution. 
He  stops  his  eyes  and  his  ears,  and  prepares  to  die 
calmly  betv/een  his  furious  subjects  on  the  one  hand  and 
his  dissatisfied  protectors  on  the  other.  Any  man  want- 
ing in  energy,  placed  as  he  is,  would  behave  exactly  in 
the  same  manner.  The  fault  is  not  his,  it  is  that  of 
weakness  and  old  age. — The  Roman  Question^  Translation 

of  COAPE. 

THE    OUTLOOK    IN    1859. 

At  the  worst,  and  as  a  last  alternative,  the  Pope  might 
retain  the  city  of  Rome,  his  palaces  and  temples,  his 
cardinals  and  prelates,  his  priests  and  monks,  his  princes 
and  footmen ;  and  Europe  would  contribute  to  feed 
the   little   colony.     But  will   the   Pope   and   the   Car- 


SB  EDMOND-FRANqOIS-VALENTIN  ABOUT 

dinais  easily  resign  themselves  to  the  condition  of 
mere  Ministers  of  Religion?  Will  they  renounce  their 
political  influence?  Will  they  in  a  single  day  forget 
their  habits  of  interfering  in  our  affairs,  of  arming 
Princes  against  one  another,  and  of  discreetly  stirring 
ijp  citizens  against  their  rulers?  I  much  doubt  it.  But, 
on  the  other  hand.  Princes  will  avail  themselves  of  the 
lawful  rights  of  self-defence.  They  will  read  history, 
and  they  will  find  there  that  the  really  strong  govern- 
ments are  those  which  have  kept  religious  authority  in 
their  own  hands  ;  that  the  Senate  of  Rome  did  not 
grant  the  priests  of  Carthage  liberty  to  preach  in  Italy  ; 
that  the  Queen  of  England  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia 
are  the  heads  of  the  Anglican  and  Russian  religions  ; 
and  they  will  see  that  by  right  the  sovereign  metropo- 
lis of  the  churches  of  France  should  be  in  Paris. — The 
Roman  Question^  Translation  of  Co  ape. 


J-    Jja 


n^j 


ADAMS,  Abigail  (Smith),  wife  of  President 
John  Adams,  born  at  Weymouth,  Mass.,  Novem- 
ber II,  1744;  died  at  Qiiincy,  Mass.,  October  28, 
1818.  She  was  married  to  Mr.  Adams  in  1764, 
and  was  his  constant  associate  during  his  whole 
public  career.  Their  correspondence  during  his 
long  absences  on  official  duty  takes  almost  the 
form  of  a  journal  by  both  parties.  It  will  nat- 
urally be  presumed  that  the  letters  of  an  uncom- 
monly sensible  woman  like  Mrs.  Adams,  who 
lived  in  an  eventful  period  of  our  history,  and 
was  personally,  and  for  the  most  part  intimately, 
acquainted  with  the  great  men  of  her  times,  must 
be  full  of  interest  and  instruction.  Some  of  the 
most  characteristic  productions  of  John  Adams, 
also,  were  written  in  letters  to  his  wife.  In  1785 
Mrs.  Adams  went  to  Europe,  where  her  husband 
was  residing  in  a  diplomatic  capacity.  They  took 
up  their  residence  at  Auteuil,  a  village  some  miles 
from  Paris.  In  letters  home  Mrs.  Adams  de- 
scribes their  way  of  life  : 

LIFE    IN    FRANCE. 

The  house  we  have  taken  is  large,  commodious,  and 
agreeably  situated  near  the  woods  of  Boulogne,  which 
belong  to  the  King,  and  which  Mr.  Adams  calls  his 
park,  for  he  walks  an  hour  or  two  every  day  in  them. 
The  house  is  much  larger  than  we  have  need  of;  upon 
occasion  forty  beds  may  be  made  in  it.     I  fancy  it  must 

i59l 


6c  ABIGAIL   ADAMS 

be  very  cold  in  winter.  There  are  few  houses  with  the 
privilege  which  this  enjoys,  of  having  the  saloon,  as  it 
is  called — the  apartment  where  we  receive  company — 
upon  the  first  floor.  The  dining-room  is  upon  the  right 
hand,  and  the  saloon  upon  the  left,  of  the  entry,  which 
has  large  glass  doors  opposite  to  each  other,  one  open- 
ing into  the  court,  as  they  call  it,  the  other  into  a  large 
and  beautiful  garden.  Out  of  the  dining-room  you  pass 
through  an  entry  into  the  kitchen.  In  this  entry  are 
stairs  which  you  ascend  ;  at  the  top  of  which  is  a  long 
gallery  fronting  the  street,  with  six  windows,  and  oppo- 
site to  each  window  you  open  into  the  chambers,  which 
all  look  into  the  garden. 

But  with  an  expense  of  thirty  thousand  livres  in  look- 
ing-glasses, there  is  no  table  in  the  house  better  than  an 
oaic  board,  nor  a  carpet  belonging  to  the  house.  The 
floors  I  abhor,  made  of  red  tiles.  These  floors  will  by 
no  means  bear  water  ;  so  the  method  of  cleaning  them 
is  to  have  them  waxed,  and  then  a  man-servant  with 
foot-brushes  drives  round  your  room,  dancing  here  and 
there  like  a  merry-andrew.  This  is  calculated  to  take 
from  your  foot  every  atom  of  dirt,  and  leave  the  room 
in  a  few  moments  as  he  found  it.  The  dining-rooms,  of 
which  you  make  no  other  use,  are  laid  with  small  stones, 
like  the  red  tiles  for  shape  and  size.  The  servants' 
rooms  are  generally  upon  the  first  floor,  and  the  stairs, 
which  you  commonly  have  to  ascend  to  get  into  the 
family  apartments,  are  so  dirty  that  I  have  been  obliged 
to  hold  up  my  clothes,  as  though  I  were  passing  through 
a  cow-yard. 

You  may  easily  suppose  that  I  have  been  fully  em- 
ployed, beginning  housekeeping  anew,  and  arranging  my 
family,  to  my  no  small  expense  and  trouble  ;  for  I  have 
had  bed-linen  and  table-linen  to  purchase  and  make, 
spoons  and  forks  to  get  made  of  silver — three  dozen  of 
each — besides  tea-furniture,  china  for  the  table,  servants 
to  procure,  etc.  The  expenses  of  living  abroad  I  have 
always  supposed  to  be  high,  but  my  ideas  were  nowise 
adequate  to  the  thing.  I  could  have  furnished  myself 
in  the  town  of  Boston  with  everything  I  have,  twenty  or 
thirty  per  cent,  cheaper.  Everything  which  will  bear 
the  name  of  elegant  is  imported  from  England  ;  and,  if 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS  6l 

yoa  will  have  it,  you  must  pay  for  it,  duties  and  all.  .  . 
The  only  gauze  fit  to  wear  is  English,  at  a  croM-n  a  yard  ; 
so  that  really  a  guinea  goes  no  further  than  a  copper 
with  us. 

For  this  house,  garden,  stables,  etc.,  we  give  two 
hundred  guineas  a  year.  Wood  is  two  guineas  and  a 
half  per  cord;  coal  six  livres  the  basket  of  about  two 
bushels  ;  this  article  of  firing  we  calculate  at  one  hun- 
dred guineas  a  year.  The  difference  between  coming  to 
this  negotiation  to  France  and  remaining  at  the  Hague, 
whet-e  a  hous^e  was  already  furnished  at  an  expense  of 
a  thousand  pounds  sterling,  will  increase  the  expense 
here  by  six  or  seven  hundred  guineas,  at  a  time,  too, 
when  Congress  have  cut  off  five  hundred  guineas  from 
what  they  have  hitherto  given.  For  our  coachman  and 
horses  alone  we  give  fifteen  guineas  a  month.  It  is  the 
policy  of  this  country  to  oblige  you  to  a  certain  number 
of  servants,  and  one  will  not  touch  what  belongs  to  the 
business  of  another,  though  he  or  she  has  time  enough 
to  perform  the  whole.  .  .  .  We  have  a  servant  who  acts 
as  maitre  d'  hotel,  and  who  is  so  very  gracious  as  to  act 
as  footman,  too,  to  save  the  expense  of  another  servant, 
upon  condition  that  we  give  him  a  gentleman's  suit  of 
clothes,  instead  of  a  livery.  Thus  with  seven  servants, 
and  hiring  a  char-woman  upon  occasion,  we  may  possi- 
bly make  out  to  keep  house.  With  less,  we  should  be 
hooted  at  as  ridiculous,  and  could  not  entertain  any 
company.     .     . 

I  have  become  steward  and  book-keeper,  determined 
to  know  with  accuracy  what  our  expenses  are,  and  to 
prevail  upon  Mr.  Adams  to  return  to  America,  if  he 
finds  himself  straitened,  as  I  think  he  must  be.  Mr.  Jay 
went  home  because  he  could  not  support  his  family 
here,  wnth  the  whole  salary ;  what  then  can  be  done, 
curtailed  as  it  now  is,v/ith  the  additional  expense  ?  Mr. 
Adams  is  to  keep  as  little  company  as  he  possibly  can, 
but  some  entertainments  we  must  make,  and  it  is  no 
unusual  thing  for  them  to  amount  to  fifty  or  sixty 
guineas  at  a  time.  More  is  to  be  performed  by  way  of 
negotiation,  many  times  at  these  entertainments,  than 
at  twenty  serious  conversations  ;  but  the  policy  of  our 
country  has  been,  and    stlH  is,  to   be   penny-wisp   and 


fe  ABIGAIL  ADAMS 

pound-foolish.  But  my  own  interest  apart,  the  system 
is  bad  for  that  nation  which  degrades  its  own  ministers, 
by  obUging  them  to  live  in  narrow  circumstances.  .  .  . 
I  will  add  one  more  expense  :  There  is  now  a  Court- 
mourning,  and  every  foreign  minister,  with  his  family, 
must  go  into  mourning  for  a  Prince  of  eight  years  old, 
whose  father  was  an  ally  to  the  King  of  France.  This 
mourning  is  ordered  by  the  Court,  and  is  to  be  worn 
eleven  days  only.  Poor  Mr.  Jefferson  had  to  hie  away 
for  a  tailor  to  get  a  whole  black  suit  made  up  in  two 
days  ;  and  at  the  end  of  eleven  days,  should  another 
death  happen,  he  will  be  obliged  to  have  a  new  suit  of 
mourning  of  cloth,  because  that  is  the  season  when  silk 
must  be  left  off.  We  may  groan  and  scold  ;  but  these  are 
expenses  which  cannot  be  avoided  ;  for  Fashion  is  the 
deity  which  everyone  worships  in  this  country  ;  and. 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  you  must  submit.  To 
be  out  of  fashion  is  to  be  more  criminal  than  to  be  seen 
in  a  state  of  nature — to  which  Parisians  are  not  averse. 
— Letter  to  her  Sister,  September  5,  I'J'84. 

Mr.  Adams  became  President  by  the  election  of 
1796;  and  was  defeated  at  the  next  election  in 
1800.  The  Seat  of  Government  being  transferred 
to  Washington,  President  Adams  and  his  family 
took  up  their  residence  there  late  in  November, 
for  the  few  months  which  were  to  intervene  until 
the  close  of  his  term.  Mrs.  Adams,  writing  to  her 
daughter,  gives  some  account  of  the  aspects  of  the 
new  Federal  capital. 

WASHINGTON    IN    180O. 

I  arrived  here  without  meeting  with  any  accident 
worth  noticing  except  losing  ourselves  when  we  left 
Baltimore,  and  going  eight  or  nine  mile?;  on  the  Frederick 
road,  by  which  means  we  were  obliged  to  go  the  other 
eight  through  the  woods,  where  we  wandered  twc  hours 
without  finding  a   guide    or  the    path.     Fortunately  a 


ABIGAIL   ADAMS  63 

Straggling  black  came  up  with  us,  and  we  engaged  him 
as  a  guide,  to  extricate  us  out  of  the  difficulty.  But 
woods  are  all  you  see  from  Baltimore  until  you  reach 
the  City,  which  is  so  only  in  name.  Here  and  there  is  a 
small  cot,  without  a  glass  window,  interspersed  among 
the  forests,  through  which  you  travel  miles  without  see- 
ing any  human  being. 

In  the  City  there  are  buildings  enough,  if  they  were 
compact  and  finished,  to  accommodate  Congress  and 
those  attached  to  it ;  but  as  they  are,  and  scattered  as 
they  are,  I  see  no  great  comfort  for  them.  The  house 
is  upon  a  grand  and  superb  scale,  requiring  about  thirty 
servants  to  attend  and  keep  the  apartments  in  proper 
order,  and  perform  the  ordinary  business  of  the  house 
and  stables  ;  an  establishment  very  well  proportioned 
to  the  President's  salary!  The  lighting  the  apartments, 
from  the  kitchen  to  parlors  and  chambers,  is  a  tax  in- 
deed ;  and  the  fires  we  are  obliged  to  keep,  to  secure 
us  from  daily  agues,  is  another  very  cheering  comfort. 
To  assist  us  in  this  great  castle,  and  render  less  attend- 
ance necessary,  bells  are  wholly  wanting,  not  one  being 
hung  through  the  whole  house,  and  promises  are  all 
you  can  obtain.  If  they  will  put  me  up  some  bells,  and 
let  me  have  wood  enough  to  keep  fires,  I  design  to  be 
pleased.  I  could  content  myself  almost  anywhere  for 
three  months  ;  but  surrounded  with  forests,  can  you 
believe  that  wood  is  not  to  be  had,  because  people  can- 
not be  found  to  cut  and  cart  it  ?     .     .     . 

You  must  keep  all  this  to  yourself ;  and  when  asked 
how  I  like  it,  say  that  I  write  to  you  that  the  situation 
is  beautiful — which  is  true.  The  house  is  made  habit- 
able, but  there  is  not  a  single  apartment  finished  ;  and 
all  inside,  except  the  plastering,  has  been  done  since 
Briesler  came.  We  have  not  the  least  fence,  yard,  or 
other  convenience,  without ;  and  the  great  unfinished 
audience-room  I  make  a  drying-room  of,  to  hang  up 
clothes  in.  The  principal  stairs  are  not  up,  and  will 
not  be  this  winter.  Six  chambers  are  made  comfort- 
able ;  two  are  occupied  by  the  President  and  Mr.  Shaw ; 
two  lower  rooms,  one  for  a  common  parlor,  and  one  for 
a  levee-room.  Upstairs  there  is  the  oval  room,  which 
is  designed  for  the  drawing-room,  and  has  the  crimson 


64  ABIGAIL  ADAMS 

furniture  in  it ;  it  is  a  very  handsome  room  now,  but 
when  completed  it  will  be  beautiful.  If  the  twelve 
years,  in  which  this  place  has  been  considered  the  fut- 
ure Seat  of  Government,  had  been  improved,  as  they 
v/ould  have  been  if  in  New  England,  very  many  of  the 
present  inconveniences  would  have  been  removed.  It 
is  a  beautiful  spot,  capable  of  every  improvement  ;  and 
the  more  I  viev/  it  the  more  I  am  delighted  with  it.  .  .  . 
— Letter  to  her  Daughter,  November  21,  1800. 

AT    THE    WHITE    HOUSE. 

Two  articles  we  are  very  much  distressed  for  :  the 
one  is  bells,  but  the  more  important  one  is  wood  ;  yet 
you  cannot  see  wood  for  trees.  No  arrangement  has 
been  made,  but  by  promises  never  performed,  to  supply 
the  new-comers  with  fuel.  Of  the  promises  Briesler 
had  received  his  full  share.  He  had  procured  nine 
cords  of  wood  ;  between  six  and  seven  of  that  v/as 
kindly  burnt  up  to  dry  the  walls  of  the  house,  which 
ought  to  have  been  done  by  the  Commissioners,  but 
which,  if  left  to  them,  would  have  remained  undone  to 
this  day.  Congress  poured  in  ;  but  shiver,  shiver.  No 
wood-cutters  nor  carters  to  be  had  at  any  rate.  We 
are  now  indebted  to  a  Pennsylvania  wagon  to  bring  us, 
through  the  First  CI  jrk  in  the  Treasury  Office,  one  cord 
and  a  half  of  v;ood,  which  is  all  we  have  for  this  house 
where  twelve  fires  are  constantly  required;  and  where,  we 
are  told,  the  roads  will  soon  be  so  bad  that  it  cannot  be 
drawn,  Briesler  procured  two  hundred  bushels  of  coals, 
or  we  must  have  suffered.  This  is  the  situation  of  al- 
most every  person.  The  public  officers  have  been  sent 
to  Philadelphia  for  wood-cutters  and  wagons.     .     .     . 

The  vessel  which  has  m^y  clothes  and  other  matters 
is  not  arrived.  The  ladies  are  impatient  for  a  drawing- 
room  ;  I  have  no  looking-glasses  but  dwarfs  for  this 
house  ;  nor  a  twentieth  part  lamps  enough  to  light  it. 
Many  things  were  stolen,  many  more  were  broken  by 
removal.  Amongst  the  number,  my  tea  china  is  more 
than  half  missing.  Georgetown  affords  nothing.  My 
rooms  are  very  pleasant  and  warm  whilst  the  doors  of 
the  hall  are  closed.     .     .     . 


ABIGAIL  ADAMS 


65 


My  visitors,  some  of  them,  come  three  and  four 
miles.  The  return  of  one  of  them  is  the  work  of  one 
day.  Most  of  the  ladies  reside  in  Georgetown^  or  in 
scattered  parts  of  the  city  at  two  and  three  miles  dis- 
tance. .  .  .  We  have  all  been  very  well  as  yet.  If  we 
can  by  any  means  get  wood,  we  shall  not  let  our  fares 
go  out ;  but  it  is  at  a  price  indeed  ;  from  four  dollars 
it  has  risen  to  nine.  Some  day  it  will  fall;  but  there 
must  be  more  industry  than  is  to  be  found  here  to 
bring  half  enough  to  the  market  for  the  consumption 
of  the  inhabitants. — Letter  to  her  Daughter^  November 
2j,  1800. 


Vol.  \.-^  . 


ADAMS,  Charles  Francis,  an  American 
statesman  and  diplomatist,  son  of  President 
John  Quincy  Adams,  born  at  Boston,  August  18, 
1807;  died  there  November  21,  1886.  His 
father  having  been  appointed  to  diplomatic  po- 
sitions in  Europe,  the  early  boyhood  of  the  son 
was  passed  abroad.  Returning  to  the  United 
States  in  18 17  he  entered  Harvard  College, 
where  he  graduated  in  1825,  and  in  1838  was 
admitted  to  the  bar.  But  he  never  engaged 
in  legal  practice,  having  previously  married  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  merchant  of  Boston.  He 
entered  into  political  life  about  1840,  as  a  member 
of  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts,  and  in  1848 
was  nominated  by  the  "  Free  Soil "  party  as  their 
candidate  for  the  Vice-presidency.  The  new  "  Re- 
publican "  party  was  organized  some  years  after, 
and  in  1858  Mr.  Adams  was  elected  as  representa- 
tive in  Congress  from  Massachusetts.  In  1861  he 
was  sent  as  minister  to  Great  Britain,  holding  the 
position  during  the  whole  Civil  War  and  until  1868, 
when  he  was  recalled  at  his  own  request.  In  1871- 
72  he  acted  as  arbitrator  for  the  United  States 
in  the  commission  appointed  to  settle  the  ques- 
tions between  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States 
arising  during  the  Civil  War.  In  1872  he  was 
prominent  in  organizing  the  "Liberal  Republican" 
mcvement,  and  was  brought  forward  as  a  candi- 


CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS  67 

date  for  the  Presidency.  Mr.  Horace  Greeley 
was,  however,  chosen  as  the  candidate  of  the  party, 
and  was  also  accepted  by  the  Democratic  party, 
but  he  failed  in  securing  an  election.  In  1872  Mr. 
Adams  formally  joined  the  Democratic  party,  by 
which,  in  1876,  he  was  nominated  for  Governor  of 
Massachusetts. 

The  contributions  of  Mr.  Charles  Francis 
Adams  to  literature  have  been  very  numerous,  in- 
cluding several  able  papers  furnished  to  the  North 
American  Rcviciv  and  other  periodicals.  But  his 
most  notable  literary  Avorks  are  biographico-his- 
torical,  relating  to  his  grandfather,  John  Adams, 
his  grandmother,  Abigail  Adams,  and  his  father, 
John  Quincy  Adams.  His  Life  and  Works  of  John 
y^^^-^wj-,  in  ten  volumes,  appeared  in  1850-56.  The 
preface  to  this  work  sets  forth  his  own  ideas  in 
respect  to  the  task  which  had  devolved  upon  him. 

THE   CAREER    OF    JOHN    ADAMS. 

The  editor  had  reason  to  know  that  he  was  looked 
upon  as  the  successor  to  this  duty,  and  that,  in  this 
view,  all  the  manuscripts,  books,  and  papers  relating  to 
it  were  to  be  committed  to  his  care.  Whatever  might 
have  been  his  doubts  of  his  own  abilities  to  execute  it, 
little  room  was  left  him  to  indulge  them.  To  say  that 
he  has  acquitted  himself  of  his  obligation  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  is  more  than  he  will  venture  to  pretend. 
All  that  he  will  venture  to  claim  for  himself  is  an  ear- 
nest desire  to  be  right,  and  an  endeavor,  by  no  trifling 
amount  of  industry,  to  become  so.  That  he  may  in 
many  instances  have  fallen  short  of  his  aim  will  not  sur- 
prise him.  Infallibility  in  such  a  department  of  inves- 
tigation is  altogether  out  of  the  question.  The  writer 
has  detected  too  many  mistakes  in  his  own  work,  and 


68  CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS 

observed  too  many  in  the  productions  of  others,  to  cher- 
ish a  spirit  of  dogmatism.     .     .     . 

So  much  has  been  said  upon  the  duties  of  editors  in 
publishing  the  papers  committed  to  their  care,  that  a 
few  words  may  be  necessary  to  explain  the  principles 
upon  which  this  work  has  been  conducted  :  In  all  cases 
the  best  copy  attainable  has  been  closely  adhered  to, 
saving  only  the  correction  of  obvious  errors  of  haste,  or 
inadvertency,  or  negligence.  Yet  as  a  considerable 
number  of  the  letters  have  been  taken  not  from  the 
originals^of  which  it  is  not  known  that  they  are  yet 
extant — but  from  the  copy-book  containing  the  rough 
drafts,  it  is  by  no  means  improbable  that,  in  case  of  a 
possibility  of  collation  with  the  real  letters,  many  dis- 
crepancies, not  to  say  interpolations,  and  even  erasures, 
may  be  discovered.  Should  such  instances  be  brought 
to  light,  it  is  proper  that  this  explanation  should  stand 
upon  record  to  guard  against  charges  of  alteration. 
Against  such  variations  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  provide,  without  materially  contracting  the  valuable 
materials  for  the  work.  For  all  others,  the  editor  has 
acted  upon  his  own  responsibility,  and  for  reasons 
which  appear  to  him  satisfactory. — Preface  to  the  Works 
of  John  Adams. 

Mr.  Charles  F.  Adams,  in  closing  this  exhaust- 
ive work  relating-  to  his  grandfather,  adds : 
"  These  volumes  by  no  means  exhaust  the  valu- 
able materials  in  the  possession  of  the  editor  for 
the  illustration  of  the  era  of  the  Revolution; 
neither  do  they  in  the  least  encroach  upon  the  yet 
larger  stores  in  reserve  for  the  other  work  in- 
tended for  publication  at  a  future  period,  and  des- 
tined in  giving  the  Life  of  John  Quincy  Adams, 
to  elucidate  the  history  of  the  generation  immedi- 
ately succeeding." — Nearly  a  score  of  years 
elapsed  before  Charles  Francis  Adams  fairly  en- 
tered upon  the  second  part  of  the  work  which  he 


CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS  69 

regarded  as  having  devolved  upon  him,  by  the 
publication  of  The  Memoirs  of  John  Qiiincy  Adams 
(13  vols.,  1874-76).  The  preface  to  this  work 
clearly  sets  forth  his  own  view  upon  what  he  des- 
ignates as  "  the  next,  and  far  the  most  difficult 
part "  of  these  biographico-historical  memorials  : 

THE    CAREER    OF    JOHN    QUINCY    ADAMS. 

The  papers  left  by  John  Quincy  Adams  were  not  only 
much  more  numerous,  but  they  embraced  a  far  wider 
variety  of  topics.  Whilst  the  public  career  of  the 
father  scarcely  covered  28  years,  that  of  the  son 
stretched  beyond  53.  The  chief  difficulties  of  the  en- 
terprise have  grown  out  of  the  exuberance  of  the 
materials.  Not  many  persons  have  left  behind  them  a 
greater  variety  of  papers  than  John  Quincy  Adams,  all 
more  or  less  marked  by  characteristic  modes  of  thought, 
and  illustrating  his  principles  of  public  life  and  private 
action.  Independently  of  a  Diary  kept  almost  con- 
tinuously for  65  years,  and  numbers  of  other  produc- 
tions— official  and  otherwise — there  is  a  variety  of  dis- 
cussion and  criticism  on  different  topics,  together  with 
correspondence,  public  and  private,  which,  if  it  were  all 
to  be  published,  as  was  that  of  Voltaire,  would  be  likely 
quite  to  equal  in  quantity  the  hundred  volumes  of  that 
expansive  writer.  But  this  example  of  Voltaire  is  one 
which  might  properly  serve  as  a  lesson  for  warning 
rather  than  for  imitation.     .     .     . 

The  chief  objects  to  be  attained  by  publishing  the 
papers  of  eminent  men  seem  to  be  the  elucidation  of 
the  history  of  the  times  in  which  they  acted,  and  of  the 
extent  to  which  they  exercised  a  personal  influence  upon 
opinion,  as  well  as  upon  events.  Where  the  materials 
to  gain  these  ends  may  be  drawn  directly  from  their 
own  testimony,  it  would  be  far  more  advisable  to  adopt 
them  at  once,  as  they  stand,  than  to  substitute  explana- 
tions or  disquisitions,  the  offspring  of  imperfect  im- 
pressions gathered  long  afterward  at  second-hand.  It 
R-o  happens  that  in  the  present  instance  there  remains 


70 


CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS 


a  record  of  life  carefully  kept  by  John  Quincy  Adams 
for  nearly  the  whole  of  his  active  days'  It  may  reason- 
ably be  doubted  whether  any  attempt  of  the  kind  has 
been  more  completely  executed  by  a  public  man.  .  .  . 
Very  fortunately  for  this  undertaking,  the  days  have 
passed  [1874]  when  the  bitterness  of  party  spirit  pre- 
vented the  possibility  of  arriving  at  calm  judgments  oi 
human  action  during  the  period  to  which  it  relates. 
Another  more  fearful  conflict,  not  restrained  within  the 
limits  of  controversy,  however  passionate,  has  so  far 
changed  the  currents  of  American  feeling  as  to  throw 
all  earlier  recollections  at  once  into  the  remote  domain 
called  "  History."  It  seems,  then,  a  suitable  moment 
for  the  submission  to  the  public  of  the  testimony  of  one 
of  the  leading  actors  in  the  earlier  era  of  the  Republic. 
In  my  labors  I  have  confined  myself  strictly  to  the 
duty  of  explanation  and  illustration  of  what  time  may 
have  rendered  obsolete  in  the  text.  Whatever  does 
there  appear  remains  just  as  the  author  wrote  it. 
Whether  for  weal  or  woe,  he  it  is  who  has  made  his 
own  pedestal,  whereon  to  take  his  stand,  to  be  judged 
by  posterity,  so  far  as  that  verdict  may  fall  within  the 
province  of  all  later  generations  of  mankind. — Preface 
to  Memoirs  of  John  Qiiiiicy  Adams. 


"s^ 


ADAMS,  Hannah,  born  at  Medfield,  Mass.,  in 
1755;  died  at  Brookline,  Mass.,  November  15, 
1832.  She  was  the  first  woman  in  America  to  de- 
vote herself  to  authorship.  Her  father,  a  man  of 
good  education,  kept  a  small  country  store,  dealing- 
among  other  things  in  books.  He  also  boarded 
some  students  of  divinity,  from  whom  the  daughter 
learned  Greek  and  Latin,  which  she  subsequently 
taught.  Her  first  work,  yi  View  of  Religious  Opin- 
ions, was  published  in  1784,  and  a  second  and  en- 
larged edition  in  1791.  "  The  emolument  I  derived 
from  this,"  she  says,  "  not  only  placed  me  in  a 
comfortable  situation,  but  enabled  me  to  pay  the 
debts  I  had  contracted  during  mine  and  my  sis- 
ter's illness,  and  to  put  out  a  small  sum  at  inter- 
est." In  1799  she  published  a  S^inunary  History  of 
New  England,  from  the  settlement  at  Plymouth  to 
the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Constitution.  Ingath- 
ering materials  for  this  work  among  old  manu- 
scripts, she  seriously  impaired  her  eyesight,  and 
had  to  employ  an  amanuensis  to  prepare  the  copy 
for  the  printers.  Her  most  elaborate  work,  The 
History  of  the  Jews,  since  the  destruction  of  Jeru- 
salem, was  in  18 18  reprinted  in  London,  "at  the 
expense  and  for  the  benefit  of  the  London  Society 
for  Promoting  Christianity  Amongst  the  Jews." 
She  commenced  an  Autobiography,  which  was 
continued  down  to  her  death  by  Mrs.  H.  F.  Lee. 

(71) 


72  HANNAH  ADAMS 

During  the  later  years  of  her  life  she  enjoyed  a 
comfortable  annuity,  raised  by  her  friends. 

CHURCH    AND    STATE   IN    MASSACHUSETTS. 

Most  of  the  Massachusetts  settlers  had,  while  in  their 
native  country,  lived  in  communion  with  the  Established 
Church.  The  rigorous  severity  used  to  enforce  cere- 
monies, by  them  deemed  unlawful,  occasioned  their  re- 
moval to  New  England.  The  Massachusetts  churches, 
in  general,  were  formed  on  the  Congregational  model, 
and  maintained  Calvanistic  doctrines.  The  colony 
had  no  settled  plan  of  church  discipline  till  after  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  John  Cotton,  whose  opinion  in  civil 
and  religious  concerns  was  held  in  the  highest  estima- 
tion. He  gradually  modelled  all  their  church  adminis- 
trations, and  determined  their  ecclesiastical  constitu- 
tions. ...  In  consequence  of  the  union  thus  formed 
between  Church  and  State,  on  the  plan  of  the  Jewish 
Theocracy,  the  ministers  were  called  to  sit  in  Council, 
and  give  their  advice  in  matters  of  religion,  and  cases 
of  conscience  which  came  before  the  Court,  and  with- 
out them  they  never  proceeded  to  any  act  of  an  eccle- 
siastical nature. 

None  were  allowed  to  vote  in  the  election  of  rulers 
but  freemen,  and  freemen  must  be  church  members ; 
and  as  none  could  be  admitted  into  the  Church  but  by 
the  Elders,  who  first  examined  and  then  propounded 
them  to  the  brethren  for  their  vote,  the  Clergy  acquired 
hereby  a  vast  ascendancy  over  both  rulers  and  people, 
and  had,  in  effect,  the  keys  of  the  State  as  well  as  the 
Church  in  their  hands.  The  Magistrates,  on  the  other 
hand,  regulated  the  gathering  of  the  churches,  inter- 
posed in  the  settlement  and  dismission  of  ministers, 
arbitrated  in  ecclesiastical  controversies,  and  controlled 
synodical  assemblies.  This  coercive  power  of  the 
Magistrates  was  deemed  absolutely  necessary  to  pre- 
serve the  order  of  the  Gospel. — History  of  New 
England. 


HANNAH  ADAMS  73 


MERITS   OF   THE   MASSACHUSETTS  COLONISTS. 

Though  the  conduct  of  our  ancestors,  in  the  applica- 
tion of  the  power  of  the  civil  magistrate  to  religious 
concerns,  was  fraught  with  error,  and  the  liberal  senti- 
ments of  the  present  age  place  their  errors  in  the  most 
conspicuous  point  of  view,  yet  their  memory  ought  ever 
to  be  held  in  veneration.  And  while  we  review  the  im- 
perfections which,  at  present,  cast  a  shade  over  their 
characters,  we  ought  to  recollect  those  virtues  by 
which  they  gave  lustre  to  the  age  in  which  they  lived  ; 
viz.  :  their  ardent  love  of  liberty,  when  tyranny  pre- 
vailed in  Church  and  State  ;  the  fortitude  with  which 
they  sacrificed  ease  and  opulence,  and  encountered 
complicated  hardships,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  sacred 
rights  of  conscience  ;  their  care  to  lay  a  foundation  for 
solid  learning,  and  establish  wise  and  useful  institutions 
in  their  infant  State  ;  the  immense  pains  they  took  in 
settling  and  cultivating  their  lands,  and  defending  the 
country  against  the  depredations  of  the  surrounding 
Indians  ;  and,  above  all,  their  supreme  regard  for  re- 
ligion.    .     .     . 

The  Massachusetts  Colony  rapidly  increased.  A 
dreary  wilderness  in  the  space  of  a  few  years  had  be- 
come a  comfortable  habitation,  furnished  with  the 
necessaries  and  conveniences  of  life.  It  is  remarkable 
that  previous  to  this  period  all  the  attempts  at  set- 
tling "  the  Northern  Patent,"  upon  secular  views,  had 
proved  abortive.  They  were  accompanied  with  such 
public  discouragement  as  would  probably  have  lost  the 
continent  to  England,  or  have  permitted  only  the  shar- 
ing of  it  with  the  other  European  Powers,  as  in  the 
West  India  Islands,  had  not  the  spirit  of  religion  given 
rise  to  an  effectual  colonization. — History  of  New 
England. 

THE   HEBREW   NATIONALITY. 

The  history  of  the  Jews  is  remarkable  above  that  of 
all  other  nations  for  the  number  and  cruelty  of  the  per- 
secutions they  have  endured.  They  are  venerable  for 
the  antiquity  of  their  origin.     They  are  discriminated 


74  HANNAH  ADAMS 

from  the  rest  of  mankind  by  their  wonderful  destina- 
tion, peculiar  habits,  and  religious  rites.  Since  the  de- 
struction of  Jerusalem,  and  their  universal  dispersion,  we 
contemplate  the  singular  phenomenon  of  a  nation  sub- 
sisting for  ages  v»-ithout  its  civil  and  religious  polity, 
and  thus  surviving  its  political  existence. 

But  the  Jews  appear  in  a  far  more  interesting  light, 
when  considered  as  a  standing  monument  of  the  truth 
of  the  Christian  Religion  ;  as  an  ancient  Church  of  God, 
to  whom  were  committed  the  Sacred  Oracles ;  as  a 
people  selected  from  all  nations  to  make  known  and 
preserve  the  knowledge  of  the  True  God.  To  them  thf 
Gospel  was  first  preached,  and  from  them  the  first 
Christian  Church  in  Jerusalem  was  collected.  To  them 
we  are  indebted  for  the  Scriptures  of  the  New  as  well 
as  of  the  Old  Testament.  To  them  were  given  the 
spirit  of  Prophecy,  and  the  power  of  working  Miracles. 
From  them  were  derived  an  illustrious  train  ot  Prophets 
and  Apostles.  *'To  them  pertaineth  the  adoption  and 
the  glory,  the  service  of  God  and  the  promises  ;  and  of 
them,  as  concerning  the  flesh,  Christ  came."     .     .     . 

The  preservation  of  this  extraordinary  people  during 
their  calamitous  dispersion  exhibits  the  faithfulness  of 
the  Deity  in  fulfilling  his  gracious  promise,  that  "when 
they  are  in  the  land  of  their  enemies,  He  will  not  cast 
them  away,  nor  destroy  them  utterly,"  Though  from 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  to  the  sixteenth  century 
there  are  few  countries  in  which  they  have  not  been 
successfully  banished,  recalled,  and  again  expelled,  yet 
they  have  never  been  banished  from  one  country  with- 
out finding  an  asylum  in  another,  .  .  .  One  of  the 
great  designs  of  their  being  preserved  and  continued  a 
distinct  people  appears  to  be  that  their  singular  destiny 
might  confirm  the  divine  authority  of  the  Gospel,  which 
they  reject ;  and  that  they  might  strengthen  the  faith 
of  others  in  those  sacred  truths,  to  which  they  refuse  to 
yield  their  own  assent. — History  of  the  Jews. 


ADAMS,  Henry,  an  American  historian,  third 
son  of  Charies  Francis  Adams,  was  born  in  Bos- 
ton, Mass.,  February  i6,  1838.  He  graduated  at 
Harvard  in  1858,  and  from  1861  to  1868  was  pri- 
vate secretary  to  his  father,  who  was  then  Minis- 
ter to  England.  From  1870  to  1877  he  was  assist- 
ant professor  of  history  at  Harvard.  He  then 
again  spent  several  years  in  London,  and  upon  his 
return  to  this  country  settled  in  Washington,  D.  C. 
He  has  been  a  frequent  contributor  to  periodicals, 
and  was,  for  a  time,  the  editor  of  the  North  Amer- 
ican Review.  He  published  Essays  in  Anglo-Saxon 
Lazv  (1876),  Life  of  Albert  Gallatin  (1879),  Writ- 
ings of  Albert  Gallatin  (1879),  John  Randolph  (1882), 
History  of  the  United  States,  including  the  first  and 
second  administrations  of  Thomas  Jefferson  and 
James  Madison  (1889-90),  Historical  Essays  {i^g\), 
The  Tendency  of  History  {\Zg^).  Of  his  biography 
of  John  Randolph,  a  prominent  critic  says :  "  To 
Mr.  Adams,  Randolph  is,  if  not  quite  a  lay  figure 
on  which  to  hang  historical  drapery,  at  least  a 
cadaver  to  be  curiously  dissected  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  an  interested  class.  However  this  may 
detract  from  the  interest  of  the  book  as  a  biog- 
raphy, it  very  much  increases  its  value  to  the 
political  student." 

(75) 


76  HENRY  ADAMS 


FIRST   ADMINISTRATION   OF   THOMAS   JEFFERSON, 

For  eighteen  years  after  1783  William  Pitt  guided 
England  through  peace  and  war  with  authority  almost 
as  absolute  as  that  of  Don  Carlos  IV.  or  Napoleon  him- 
self. From  him  and  from  his  country  President  Jeffer- 
son had  much  to  fear  and  nothing  to  gain  beyond  a 
continuance  of  the  good  relations  which  President 
Washington,  with  extreme  difficulty,  had  succeeded  in 
establishing  between  the  two  peoples.  So  far  as  Eng- 
land was  concerned  this  understanding  had  been  the 
work  of  Pitt  and  Lord  Grenville,  who  rather  imposed  it 
on  their  party  than  accepted  it  as  the  result  of  any  pub- 
lic will.  The  extreme  perils  in  which  England  then 
stood  inspired  caution  ;  and  of  this  caution  the  treaty 
of  1794  was  one  happy  result.  So  long  as  the  British 
Government  remained  in  a  cautious  spirit,  America  was 
safe;  but  should  Pitt  or  his  successors  throw  off  the  self- 
imposed  restraints  on  England's  power,  America  could 
at  the  utmost,  even  by  a  successful  war,  gain  nothing 
materially  better  than  a  return  to  the  arrangements  of 
1794. 

The  War  of  Independence,  which  ended  in  the  de- 
finitive treaty  of  1783,  naturally  left  the  English  people 
in  a  state  of  irritation  and  disgust  toward  America  ;  and 
the  long  interregnum  of  the  Confederation,  from  1783 
to  1789,  allowed  this  disgust  to  ripen  into  contempt. 
When  at  length  the  Constitution  of  1789  restored  order 
in  the  American  chaos,  England  felt  little  faith  in  the 
success  of  the  experiment.  She  waited  for  time  to 
throw  light  on  her  interests. 

This  delay  was  natural,  for  American  independence 
had  shattered  into  fragments  the  commercial  system  of 
Great  Britain,  and  powerful  interests  were  combined  to 
resist  further  concession.  Before  1776  the  colonies 
of  England  stretched  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the 
Mississippi,  and  across  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the  coast 
of  South  America,  mutually  supporting  and  strengthen- 
ing each  other.  Jamaica  and  the  other  British  islands  of 
the  West  Indies  drew  their  most  necessary  supplies  from 
the  Delaware  and  the  Hudson.     Boston  and  New  York 


HENRY  ADAMS  Tl 

were,  in  some  respects,  more  important  to  them  than 
London  itself.  The  timber,  live-stock,  and  provisions 
which  came  from  the  neighboring  continent  were  es- 
sential to  the  existence  of  the  West  Indian  planters  and 
negroes.  When  war  cut  off  these  supplies,  famine  and 
pestilence  followed.  After  the  peace  of  1783  even  the 
most  Conservative  English  statesmen  were  obliged  to 
admit  that  the  strictness  of  their  old  colonial  system 
could  not  be  maintained,  and  that  the  United  States, 
though  independent,  must  be  admitted  to  some  of  the 
privileges  of  a  British  colony.  The  Government  un- 
willingly conceded  what  could  not  be  refused,  and  the 
West  Indian  colonists  compelled  Parliament  to  relax 
the  colonial  system  so  far  as  to  allow  a  restricted  inter- 
course between  their  islands  and  the  ports  of  the  United 
States.  The  relaxation  was  not  a  favor  to  the  United 
States — it  was  a  condition  of  existence  to  the  West 
Indies  ;  not  a  boon,  but  a  right  which  the  colonists 
claimed  and  an  Act  of  Parliament  defined. 

The  right  was  dearly  paid  for.  The  islands  might 
buy  American  timber  and  grain,  but  they  were  allowed 
to  make  return  only  in  molasses  and  rum.  Payment  in 
sugar  would  have  been  cheaper  for  the  colonists,  and 
the  planters  wished  for  nothing  more  earnestly  than  to 
be  allowed  this  privilege  ;  but  as  often  as  they  raised 
the  prayer,  English  shipowners  cried  that  the  naviga- 
tion laws  were  in  peril,  and  a  chorus  of  familiar  phrases 
filled  the  air,  all  carrying  a  deep  meaning  to  the  English 
people.  "  Nursery  of  seamen,"  was  one  favorite  ex- 
pression, "  Neutral  frauds  "  another  ;  and  all  agreed  in 
assuming  that  at  whatever  cost,  and  by  means  however 
extravagant,  the  navy  must  be  fed  and  strengthened. 
Under  the  cover  of  supporting  the  navy  any  absurdity 
could  be  defended ;  and  in  the  case  of  the  West  Indian 
trade,  the  British  shipowner  enjoyed  the  right  to  absurd- 
ities sanctioned  by  a  century  and  a  half  of  law  and  cus- 
tom. The  freight  on  British  sugars  belonged  of  right 
to  British  shippers,  who  could  not  be  expected  to  sur- 
render of  their  own  accord,  in  obedience  to  any  laws  of 
political  economy,  a  property  which  was  the  source  of 
their  incomes.  The  colonists  asked  permission  to  re- 
fine their  own  sugar  ;  but  their  request  not  only  roused 


78  HENRY  ADAMS 

Strong  opposition  from  the  shipowners  who  wanted  the 
bulkier  freight,  but  started  the  home  sugar-refiners  to 
their  feet,  who  proved  by  Acts  of  Parhament  that  sugar- 
refining  was  a  British,  and  not  a  colonial,  right.  The 
colonists  then  begged  a  reduction  of  the  heavy  duty  on 
sugar,  but  English  country  gentlemen  cried  against  a 
measure  which  might  lead  to  an  increase  of  the  income 
tax,  or  the  imposition  of  some  new  burden  on  agricult- 
ure. In  this  dilemma  the  colonists  frankly  said  that 
only  their  weakness,  not  their  will,  prevented  them  from 
declaring  themselves  independent,  like  their  neighbors 
at  Charleston  and  Philadelphia. 

Even  when  the  qualified  right  of  trade  was  conceded, 
the  colonists  were  not  satisfied  ;  and  the  concession 
itself  laid  the  foundation  of  more  serious  changes. 
From  the  moment  that  American  produce  was  admitted 
to  be  a  necessity  for  the  colonists,  it  was  clear  that  the 
Americans  must  be  allowed  a  voice  in  the  British  sys- 
tem. Discussion  whether  the  Americans  had  or  had 
not  a  right  to  the  colonial  trade  was  already  a  long  step 
toward  revolution.  One  British  minister  after  another 
resented  the  idea  that  the  Americans  had  any  rights  in 
the  matter ;  yet  when  they  came  to  practical  arrange- 
ments the  British  statesmen  were  obliged  to  concede 
that  they  were  mistaken.  From  the  necessity  of  the 
case,  the  Americans  had  rights  which  never  could  be 
successfully  denied.  Parliament  struggled  to  prevent 
the  rebel  Americans  from  sharing  in  the  advantages  of 
the  colonial  system  from  which  they  rebelled  ;  but  un- 
reasonable as  it  was  that  the  United  States  should  be 
rewarded  for  rebellion  by  retaining  the  privileges  of 
subjects,  this  was  the  inevitable  result.  Geography 
and  nature  were  stronger  than  Parliament  and  the 
British  navy. — History  of  the  U?iited  States. 


J(}im.Jdamj 


ADAMS,  John,  second  President  of  the  United 
States,  born  at  Braintree,  Mass.,  October  30,  1735  ; 
died  at  Quincy,  Mass.,  July  4,  1826.  He  gradu- 
ated at  Harvard  College  in  1755,  took  charge  of 
a  Grammar  School  at  Worcester,  and  read  law 
with  the  only  lawyer  in  the  town  ;  and  in  1758 
commenced  practice  in  his  native  county  of  Suf- 
folk, of  which  Boston  was  the  shire  town.  In 
1764  he  married  Abigail  Smith,  a  daughter  of  the 
minister  of  the  neighboring  town  of  Weymouth. 
The  disputes  between  Great  Britain  and  the 
American  Colonies,  growing  primarily  out  of  the 
Stamp  Act,  were  growing  warm,  and  Adams  took 
a  prominent  part  on  the  side  of  the  Colonists, 
although  he  did  not  concur  in  the  violent  early 
acts  of  their  leaders.  The  dispute  which  was  al- 
layed by  the  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act  broke  out 
afresh  upon  the  passage  by  Parliament  of  the  Bos- 
ton Port  Bill  and  the  destruction  of  the  tea  in 
Boston  harbor.  The  Congress  of  1774  was  a  con- 
sequence of  these  proceedings,  Adams  being  ap- 
pointed one  of  the  five  delegates  from  Massachu- 
setts to  this  Congress,  which  was  convened  at 
Philadelphia.  He  was  prominent  among  those 
who  were  in  favor  of  restricting  the  aggressions 
of  England  upon  the  rights  of  the  Colonies.  His 
Diary  and  his  numerous  Letters,  now  included  in 
the  edition    of    his  Life  and  Works,  prepared  bv 


8o  JOHN  ADAMS 

his  grandson,  Charles  Francis  Adams,  throw  much 
light  upon  this  seeding  period  of  the  American 
nation. 

The  "  Continental  Congress"  of  1775,  although 
composed  of  nearly  the  same  members  as  the 
Congress  of  the  preceding  year,  found  that  higher 
duties  had  devolved  upon  it.  The  earlier  Con- 
gress had  rather  to  deliberate  upon  what  ought 
to  be  done.  The  Continental  Congress  was  forced 
by  the  course  of  things  to  decide  what  could  be 
done,  and  what  must  be  done.  Adams  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  any  reconciliation  with  the 
Mother  Country  was  hopeless.  Other  members 
thought  otherwise,  and  a  most  respectful  petition 
to  the  King  was  agreed  upon.  No  harm  could  be 
done  by  such  a  petition,  and,  as  it  turned  out,  no 
good  was  done  by  it.  Adams  and  his  associates 
carried  the  main  practical  point :  The  Colonies 
were  to  put  themselves  into  a  "state  of  defence," 
while  still  asserting  that  "  the  war  on  their  part 
was  defensive  only,  and  without  any  intention  to 
throw  off  their  allegiance."  The  meeting  of  the 
Congress  early  in  1776  evinced  clearly  that  a 
separation  between  the  Mother  Country  and  the 
Colonies  was  to  be  effected  by  armed  force.  The 
decisive  point  was  reached  early  in  May,  when  a 
resolution  moved  by  R.  H.  Lee  was  passed,  aver- 
ring that  the  United  States  "are  and  ought  to  be 
free  and  independent,"  Three  committees  were 
appointed  to  prepare  the  necessary  measures. 
Adams  was  a  member  of  two  of  these  commit- 
tees, that  on  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
being  the  most  significant.  The  Declaration  itself 


JOHN  ADAMS  8l 

was  drawn  up  by  Jefferson,  though  the  original 
document  was  somewhat  modified  so  as  to  meet 
the  views  of  Adams,  upon  whom  was  devolved 
the  arduous  task  of  carrying  the  Declaration 
through  the  somewhat  undecided  Congress. 

For  the  ensuing  twelve  years  John  Adams  was 
one  of  the  most  notable  men  in  America.  He  was 
recognized  as  having  "  the  clearest  head  and  the 
firmest  heart  of  any  man  in  Congress."  Early  in 
1778  he  was  sent  to  Europe  to  take  practically  the 
lead  in  conducting  our  foreign  affairs,  first  as 
Commissioner  to  France,  and  subsequently  as 
Minister  to  the  Netherlands  and  to  Great  Britain. 

In  the  meantime  it  had  become  clear  to  all  men 
that  the  Confederation  of  States  was  not  a  form 
of  government  suited  to  meet  the  exigencies  of 
the  times.  Early  in  1788  Adams,  at  his  own  urgent 
request,  was  recalled  from  his  mission  abroad. 
Upon  his  return  he  was  reappointed  as  a  delegate 
from  Massachusetts  to  the  Continental  Congress, 
which  had  been  assembled  mainly  to  draw  up 
a  new  form  of  Constitution  for  the  United 
States.  This  Congress  had,  however,  already 
completed  their  work,  and  Mr.  Adams  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  actual  framing  of  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States.  This  document,  as 
originally  framed,  prescribed  that  each  of  the 
Presidential  Electors — the  number  of  which  was 
provisionally  fixed  at  sixty-nine — should  cast  two 
ballots  for  different  persons.  The  person  receiving 
the  highest  vote,  provided  that  it  was  more  than 
half  of  the  whole  number  cast,  was  thereby  elect- 
ed as  President.  The  person  receiving  the  next 
Vol.  I.— 6 


82  JOHiV  ADAMS 

highest  number,  whether  a  majority  of  the  whole 
or  not,  was  to  be  Vice-President.  Washington 
received  one  vote  from  each  of  the  Electors,  and 
was  thus  unanimously  chosen  as  President.  The 
remaining  Electoral  votes  were  given  to  eleven 
persons.  Of  these  Mr.  Adams  received  thirty- 
four,  the  highest  number  cast  for  any  one  person, 
though  lacking  one  of  being  a  majority  of  the 
whole ;  and  he  was  therefore  declared  to  have 
been  chosen  Vice-President,  and  President  of 
the  Senate  ex  officio.  At  the  second  Presidential 
election,  in  1792,  Washington  again  received  an 
entire  Electoral  vote.  Adams  also  received  a 
majority  of  the  remaining  vote,  and  was  thus 
chosen  again  as  Vice-President. 

Washington  having  positively  declined  to  hold 
the  Presidency  for  a  third  term,  the  election  of 
1797  took  a  singular  turn.  Three  candidates  were 
presented  for  the  first  place — Adams,  Jefferson, 
and  Thomas  Pinckney.  Jefferson  was  recognized 
as  the  leader  of  the  Anti-Federal  or  "  Republican" 
party  ;  while  both  Adams  and  Pinckney  were  the 
recognized  candidates  of  the  Federal  party  for 
the  first  and  second  places.  But  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  party  wished  that  Pinckney  should 
receive  the  higher  vote,  and  thus  be  chosen  as 
President.  A  large  number  of  Eastern  Federalist 
Electors  withheld  their  votes  from  Pinckney, 
and  the  result  was  that  Adams  had  seventy-one 
Electoral  votes,  being  a  majority  of  the  whole, 
and  the  highest  number  for  any.  He  was  thus 
chosen  President,  while  Jefferson,  having  sixty- 
nine  votes,  became  Vice-President. 


JOHN  ADAMS  83 

At  the  next  Presidential  election,  in  1800, 
Adams  and  Charles  C.  Pinckney  were  the  Federal 
candidates,  receiving-  sixty-five  and  sixty-four 
votes  respectively.  Jefferson  and  Burr  were  the 
Republican  candidates,  each  receiving  seventy- 
three  votes.  The  choice  for  President  thus  de- 
volved upon  the  House  of  Representatives,  and 
this  body  selected  Jefferson  as  President,  Burr 
being  Vice-President.  The  public  life  of  John 
Adams  fairly  ended  with  this  defeat.  He  re- 
tired to  his  home  in  Braintree,  and  wrote  much 
matter,  some  of  it  of  decided  value.  He  died  on 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  signing  of  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence.  On  the  same  day  died 
Thomas  Jefferson,  long  the  associate,  and  subse- 
quently the  bitter  political  opponent,  of  Adams. 
It  is  pleasant  to  call  to  mind  that  when  both  of 
these  patriots  had  come  to  be  very  old  men,  they 
forgot  the  previous  animosities  of  their  political 
life. 

Most  of  the  ten  large  volumes  which  make  up 
the  Works  of  John  Adams  are  of  mere  temporary 
and  local  significance.  But  some  of  them  contain 
passages  deserving  a  place  in  the  permanent  rec- 
ord of  human  thought.  Prominent  among  these 
works  is  his  Defence  of  the  Constitutions  of  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States  of  America,  first  published 
in  London,  in  1787,  while  the  author  was  our 
Minister  in  England.  The  Defence  of  the  Ameri- 
can  Constitutions  was  published  in  Philadelphia 
ten  years  later  in  three  octavo  volumes.  The 
undertaking  of  this  valuable  work  grew  out  of 
the  fact,  mentioned  by  Chancellor  Kent,  that  at 


84  JOHN  ADAMS 

the  commencement  of  the  French  Revolution 
many  speculative  writers  and  theoretical  politi- 
cians had  been  struck  with  the  simplicity  of  a  leg- 
islature with  a  single  assembly,  and  had  concluded 
that  more  than  one  house  was  useless  and  expen- 
sive. President  Adams  therefore  thought  it 
timely  to  vindicate  the  value  and  necessity  of  the 
division  of  the  Legislature  into  two  branches,  and 
of  the  distribution  of  the  powers  of  the  Govern- 
ment into  distinct  departments.  The  work  was 
written  in  the  form  of  about  fifty  letters,  and  be- 
fore the  present  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
had  been  framed.  He  speaks  therefore  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  Governments  of  the  Thirteen 
independent  Colonies  or  States  which  constituted 
the  Confederation;  and  of  these  he  says: 

THE   GOVERNMENTS   OF   THE   THIRTEEN   STATES. 

It  will  not  be  pretended  that  the  persons  employed 
in  the  formation  of  these  Governments  had  any  inter- 
views with  the  gods,  or  were  in  any  degree  under  the 
inspiration  of  heaven,  any  more  than  those  at  work 
upon  ships  or  houses,  or  laboring  upon  merchandise  or 
agriculture.  It  will  be  forever  acknowledged  that  these 
Governments  were  contrived  merely  by  the  use  of  rea- 
son and  the  senses.  Neither  the  people  nor  their  con- 
ventions, committees  or  sub-committees,  considered 
legislation  in  any  other  light  than  ordinary  arts  and 
sciences,  only  as  of  more  importance.  Called  without 
exception,  and  compelled  without  previous  inclination 
— though  undoubtedly  at  the  best  period  of  time,  both 
for  England  and  America — to  erect  suddenly  new  sys- 
tems of  laws  for  their  future  government,  they  adopted 
the  methods  of  a  wise  architect,  in  erecting  a  new  pal- 
ace for  the  residence  of  his  sovereign.  .  .  .  Unembar- 
rassed by  attachments  to  noble  families,  hereditary  lines, 
and  successions,  or  by  considerations  of  royal  blood, 


JOHN  ADAMS  85 

even  the  pious  mystery  of  holy  oil  had  no  more  influ- 
ence than  that  other  of  holy  water.  And  their  leaders 
— or,  more  properly  followers — were  men  of  too  much 
honor  to  attempt  it. 

Thirteen  Governments,  thus  naturally  founded  on  the 
authority  of  the  People  alone — without  a  pretence  of 
miracle  or  mystery,  which  are  destined  to  spread  over 
the  northern  part  of  that  whole  quarter  of  the  globe — 
are  a  great  point  gained  in  favor  of  the  rights  of  man- 
kind. The  experiment  is  made,  and  has  completely 
succeeded.  It  can  be  no  longer  called  in  question, 
whether  authority  in  magistrates,  and  obedience  of  citi- 
zens, can  be  grounded  on  reason,  morality,  and  the 
Christian  religion,  without  the  monkery  of  priests  or 
the  knavery  of  politicians. — Preface  to  the  Defence, 

THE   OUTLOOK    IN    1 787. 

The  arts  and  sciences,  in  general,  during  the  three  or 
four  last  centuries,  have  had  a  regular  course  of  pro- 
gressive improvement.  The  inventions  in  the  mechanic 
arts,  the  discoveries  in  natural  philosophy,  navigation, 
and  commerce,  and  the  advancement  of  civilization  and 
humanity,  have  occasioned  changes  in  the  condition  of 
the  world,  and  the  human  character,  which  would  have 
astonished  the  most  refined  nations  of  antiquity.  A 
continuation  of  such  exertions  is  every  day  rendering 
Europe  more  and  more  like  one  community,  or  single 
family.  The  checks  and  balances  of  republican  Gov- 
ernments have  been  in  some  degree  adopted  by  the 
courts  of  princes.  .  .  .  A  control  has  been  established 
over  ministers  of  state  and  the  royal  councils,  which 
approaches  in  some  degree  the  spirit  of  republics.  The 
press  has  great  influence,  even  where  it  is  not  expressly 
tolerated  ;  and  the  public  opinion  must  be  respected  by 
a  minister,  or  his  place  becomes  insecure.  .  .  .  And 
if  religious  toleration  were  established,  and  personal 
liberty  a  little  more  protected,  by  giving  an  absolute 
right  to  demand  a  public  trial  in  a  certain  reasonable 
time,  and  the  States  [Estates]  invested  with  a  few  more 
privileges — or,  rather,  restored  to  some  that  have  been 
taken  away — these  Governments  would  be  brought  to 


rf6  JOHN  ADAMS 

as  great  a  degree  of  perfection — they  would  approach 
as  near  to  the  character  of  governments  of  Laws  and 
not  of  Men,  as  their  nature  will  probably  admit  of. — 
Preface  to  the  Defence. 


The  Diary  of  John  Adams,  though  not  kept  up 
unremittingly  during  his  whole  life,  contains  many 
interesting  passages.  In  January,  1759,  ^^^^  long 
after  he  had  begun  the  practice  of  law,  he  writes: 

EARLY   PLANS   FOR   LIFE. 

What  am  I  doing?  Shall  I  sleep  away  my  whole  sev- 
enty years?  No,  by  everything  I  swear  I  will  renounce 
this  contemplative,  and  betake  myself  to  an  active,  rov- 
ing life  by  sea  or  land ;  or  else  I  will  attempt  some  un- 
common, unexpected  enterprise  in  law.  Let  me  lay  the 
plan,  and  arouse  spirit  enough  to  push  boldly.  I  swear 
I'll  push  myself  into  business.  LU  watch  my  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  in  Court,  and  will  strike  with  surprise ; 
surprise  bench,  bar,  jury,  auditors  and  all.  Activity, 
boldness,  forwardness,  will  draw  attention.  I  will  not 
lean  with  my  elbows  on  the  table  forever,  like  So-and-so ; 
but  I  will  not  forego  the  pleasures  of  ranging  the  woods, 
climbing  cliffs,  walking  in  fields,  meadows,  by  rivers, 
lakes,  etc.,  and  confine  myself  to  a  chamber  for  nothing. 
I'll  have  some  boon  in  return,  exchange  :  Fame,  fortune, 
or  something.     .     .     . 

In  Parson  Wibird's  company  something  is  to  be 
learned  of  human  nature,  human  life,  love,  courtship, 
marriage.  .  .  .  He  has  his  mind  stuffed  with  remarks 
and  stories  of  human  virtues  and  vices,  wisdom  and 
folly,  etc.  But  his  opinion,  out  of  poetry,  love,  court- 
ship, marriage,  politics,  war,  grace,  decency,  etc.,  is  not 
very  valuable.  His  soul  is  lost  in  dronish  effeminacy. 
I'd  rather  be  lost  in  a  whirlwind  of  activity,  study,  busi- 
ness, great  and  good  designs  of  promoting  the  honor, 
grandeur,    wealth,    happiness   of  mankind, — Diary  for 

^759' 


JOHN  ADAMS  87 


THE   YEAR    1 7  65. 

This  has  been  the  most  remarkable  year  of  my  life. 
That  enormous  engine,  fabricated  by  the  British  Parlia- 
ment for  battering  down  all  the  rights  and  liberties  of 
America — I  mean  the  Stamp  Act — has  raised  and  spread 
through  the  whole  continent  a  spirit  which  will  be  re- 
corded to  our  honor  with  all  future  generations.  .  .  . 
Such,  and  so  universal,  has  been  the  resentment  of  the 
people  that  every  man  who  has  dared  to  speak  in  favor 
of  the  stamps,  or  to  soften  the  detestation  in  which  they 
are  held,  has  been  seen  to  sink  into  universal  contempt 
and  ignominy.  The  people,  even  to  the  lowest  ranks, 
have  become  more  attentive  to  their  liberties,  more  in- 
quisitive about  them,  and  more  determined  to  defend 
them  than  they  were  ever  before.  The  crown  officers 
have  everywhere  trembled  ;  and  all  their  little  tools  and 
creatures  have  been  afraid  to  speak,  and  ashamed  to  be 
seen. 

This  spirit,  however,  has  not  been  sufficient  to  banish 
from  persons  in  authority  that  timidity  which  they  have 
discovered  from  the  beginning.  The  Executive  Courts 
have  not  yet  dared  to  pronounce  the  Stamp  Act  void, 
nor  to  proceed  to  business  as  usual,  though  it  should 
seem  that  necessity  alone  would  be  sufficient  to  justify 
business  at  present,  though  the  Act  should  be  allowed 
to  be  obligatory.  The  stamps  are  in  the  castle ;  the 
Governor  has  no  authority  to  unpack  the  bales  ;  the  Act 
has  never  been  proclaimed  nor  read  in  the  Province; 
and  yet  the  probate  office  is  shut,  the  custom-houses  are 
shut,  and  all  business  seems  at  a  stand.  .  .  .  How 
long  we  are  to  remain  in  this  languid  condition — this 
passive  obedience  to  the  Stamp  Act — is  not  certain. 

But  such  a  pause  cannot  be  lasting  .  .  .  and  it  is 
to  be  expected  that  the  public  offices  will  very  soon  be 
forced  open,  unless  such  favorable  accounts  should  be 
received  from  England  as  to  draw  away  the  fear  of  the 
great ;  or  unless  a  greater  dread  of  the  multitude  should 
drive  away  the  fear  of  censure  from  Great  Britain.  It 
is  my  opinion  that  by  this  inactivity  we  discover  cow- 
ardice, and  too  much  respect  for  the  Act.     This  rest 


88  JOHN  ADAMS 

appears  to  be — by  implication  at  least — an  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  authority  of  Parliament  to  tax  us.  And  if 
this  authority  is  once  acknowledged  and  established, 
the  ruin  of  America  will  become  inevitable. — Diary  of 
^765- 

The  letters  written  by  Adams  to  his  wife  are 
often  extremely  interesting.  In  them  he  lays  bare 
his  inmost  heart  upon  matters  of  public  import. 
Thus,  late  in  July,  1775,  when  the  first  Continental 
Congress  was  in  session,  and  the  question  of  revo- 
lution or  no  revolution  was  becoming  the  impor- 
tant issue  of  the  time,  he  writes  of  Franklin  and 
some  other  members  of  that  Congress: 

ADAMS  UPON   FRANKLIN   AND   OTHERS. 

Dr.  Franklin  has  been  very  constant  in  his  attendance 
upon  Congress  from  the  beginning.  His  conduct  has 
been  composed  and  grave,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  many 
gentlemen,  very  reserved.  He  has  not  assumed  any- 
thing, nor  affected  to  take  the  lead ;  but  has  seemed  to 
choose  that  Congress  should  pursue  their  own  senti- 
ments, and  adopt  their  own  plans.  Yet  he  has  not  been 
backward ;  has  been  very  useful  to  us  on  many  occa- 
sions, and  discovered  a  disposition  entirely  American. 
He  does  not  hesitate  at  our  boldest  measures,  but  rather 
seems  to  think  us  too  irresolute  and  backward.  He 
thinks  us  at  present  in  rather  an  odd  state ;  neither  at 
peace  nor  at  war;  neither  dependent  nor  independent. 
But  he  thinks  that  we  shall  soon  assume  a  character 
more  decisive.  He  thinks  that  we  have  the  power  of 
preserving  ourselves;  and  that,  even  if  we  should  be 
driven  to  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  assuming  a  total 
independency,  and  set  up  a  separate  State,  we  can  main- 
tain it. 

The  people  in  England  have  thought  that  the  oppo- 
sition was  wholly  owing  to  Dr.  Franklin ;  and  I  suppose 
their  scribblers  will  attribute  the  proceeding  of  Congress 


JOHN  ADAMS  89 

to  him ;  but  there  cannot  be  a  greater  mistake.  He  has 
had  but  little  share  farther  than  to  co-operate  and  to  as- 
sist. He  is,  however,  a  great  and  a  good  man.  I  wish 
his  colleagues  from  this  city  [Philadelphia]  were  all  like 
him ;  particularly  one  [John  Dickinson],  whose  abilities 
and  virtues,  formerly  trumpeted  so  much  in  America, 
have  been  found  wanting.  There  is  a  young  gentleman 
from  Pennsylvania  whose  name  is  Wilson,  whose  forti- 
tude, rectitude,  and  abilities,  too,  greatly  outshine  his 
master's.  Mr.  Biddle,  the  Speaker,  has  been  taken  off 
by  sickness ;  Mr.  Mifflin  is  gone  to  the  camp ;  Mr. 
Morton  is  ill  too ;  so  that  this  Province  has  suffered  by 
the  timidity  of  two  overgrown  fortunes.  The  dread  of 
confiscation,  or  caprice — I  know  not  what — has  influenced 
them  too  much.  Yet  they  were  for  taking  arms,  and 
pretended  to  be  very  valiant.  This  letter  must  be 
secret,  dear,  or  at  least  communicated  with  great  dis- 
cretion.— Letter,  July  2j^  J775* 


It  was  al<iiaost  a  year  longer  before  the  question 
of  Independence  came  to  a  final  decision  in  the 
Continental  Congress.  On  July  3,  1776,  Adams 
wrote  to  his  wife  ; 

THE    DECLARATION   OF   INDEPENDENCE. 

Yesterday  the  greatest  question  was  decided  which 
ever  was  debated  in  America ;  and  a  greater,  perhaps, 
never  was  or  will  be  debated  among  men.  A  Resolution 
was  passed,  without  one  dissenting  Colony,  "  that  these 
United  Colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and 
independent  States,  and  as  such  they  have,  and  of  right 
ought  to  have,  full  power  to  make  war,  conclude  peace, 
establish  commerce,  and  do  all  other  acts  and  things 
which  other  States  may  rightfully  do."  You  will  see  in 
a  few  days  a  Declaration  setting  forth  the  causes  which 
have  impelled  us  to  this  mighty  revolution,  and  the  rea- 
sons which  will  justify  it  to  God  and  man.     .     .     . 

When  I  run  through  the  whole  period  from  1761  to 
this,  I  am  surprised  at  the  suddenness  as  well  as  the 


90  JOHM  ADAMS 

greatness  of  this  revolution.  Britain  has  been  filled  with 
folly,  and  America  with  wisdom  ;  at  least  this  is  my 
judgment.  Time  must  determine.  It  is  the  will  of 
Heaven  that  the  two  countries  should  be  sundered  for- 
ever. It  may  be  the  will  of  Heaven  that  America  shall 
suffer  calamities  still  more  wasting,  and  distresses  yet 
more  dreadful.     .     .     . 

Had  a  Declaration  of  Independency  been  made  seven 
months  ago,  it  would  have  been  attended  with  many  great 
and  glorious  effects.  We  might,  before  this  hour,  have 
formed  alliances  with  foreign  States.  We  should  have 
been  masters  of  Quebec,  and  been  in  possession  of 
Canada,  .  .  .  But  the  delay  of  this  Declaration  to 
this  time  has  many  great  advantages  attending  it.  The 
hopes  of  reconciliation  which  were  fondly  entertained 
by  multitudes  of  honest  and  well-meaning,  though  weak 
and  mistaken,  people,  have  been  gradually,  and  at  last 
totally,  extinguished.  Time  has  been  given  for  the 
whole  people  maturely  to  consider  the  great  question  of 
Independence  ...  so  that  the  whole  people,  in 
every  Colony  of  the  Thirteen,  have  now  adopted  it  as 
their  own  act.  This  will  cement  the  union,  and  avoid 
those  heats,  and  perhaps  convulsions,  which  might  have 
been  occasioned  by  such  a  Declaration  six  months  ago. 

But  the  day  is  past.  The  second  day  of  July,  1776, 
will  be  the  most  memorable  epoch  in  the  history  of 
America.  I  am  apt  to  believe  that  it  will  be  celebrated 
by  succeeding  generations  as  the  great  anniversary  fes- 
tival. It  ought  to  be  commemorated  as  the  day  of 
deliverance,  by  solemn  acts  of  devotion  to  God  Almighty. 
It  ought  to  be  solemnized  with  pomp  and  parade,  with 
shows,  games,  sports,  guns,  bells,  bonfires,  and  illumina- 
tions, from  one  end  of  this  continent  to  the  other,  from 
this  time  forward  forever.  ...  I  am  well  aware  of 
the  toil  and  blood  and  treasure  which  it  will  cost  us  to 
maintain  this  Declaration  and  defend  these  States.  Yet 
through  all  the  gloom  I  can  see  the  rays  of  ravishing 
light  and  glory.  I  can  see  that  the  end  is  worth  more 
than  all  the  means ;  and  that  posterity  will  triumph  in 
that  day's  transaction,  even  though  we  should  rue  it  — 
which  I  trust  in  God  we  shall  not. — Letter ^  July  s,  1776. 


JOHN  ADAMS  91 


CHARACTER   OF   NEW   ENGLANDERS. 

If  ever  I  get  through  this  scene  of  politics  and  jjzx^  I 
will  spend  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  endeavoring  to 
instruct  my  countrymen  in  the  art  of  making  the  most 
of  their  virtues  and  abilities;  an  art  which  they  have 
hitherto  too  much  neglected.  A  Philosophical  Society 
shall  be  established  at  Boston,  if  I  have  wit  and  ad- 
dress to  accomplish  it,  some  time  or  other.  .  .  .  My 
countrymen  want  art  and  address.  They  want  knowl- 
edge of  the  world.  They  want  the  exterior  and  accom- 
plishments of  gentlemen,  upon  which  the  world  has  set 
so  high  a  value.  In  solid  abilities  and  virtues  they 
vastly  excel,  in  general,  any  people  on  this  continent. 
Our  New  England  people  are  awkward  and  bashful ;  yet 
they  are  pert,  ostentatious,  and  vain — a  mixture  which 
excites  ridicule  and  gives  disgust.  They  have  not  the 
faculty  of  showing  themselves  to  the  best  advantage, 
nor  the  art  of  concealing  this  faculty  ;  an  art  and  faculty 
which  some  people  possess  in  the  highest  degree.  Our 
deficiencies  in  this  respect  are  owing  wholly  to  the  little 
intercourse  we  have  with  strangers,  and  to  our  inex- 
perience of  the  world.  These  imperfections  must  be 
remedied,  for  New  England  must  produce  the  heroes, 
the  statesmen,  the  philosophers,  or  America  will  make 
no  great  figure  for  some  time. — Letter^  August  j,  I'jjd. 

THE   SEAL   FOR   THE   UNITED   STATES. 

Dr.  Franklin  proposes  a  device  for  the  seal :  Moses 
lifting  up  his  wand  and  dividing  the  Red  Sea,  and 
Pharaoh  in  his  chariot  overwhelmed  with  the  waters  ; 
this  motto,  "  Rebellion  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God." 
— Mr.  Jefferson  proposed  the  children  of  Israel  in  the 
wilderness,  led  by  a  cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  fire  by 
night ;  and  on  the  other  side,  Hengist  and  Horsa,  the 
Saxon  chiefs  from  whom  we  claim  the  honor  of  being 
descended,  and  whose  political  principles  and  form  of 
government  we  have  assumed. — I  proposed  the  Choice 
of  Hercules,  as  engraved  in  some  editions  of  Lord 
Shaftesbury's  works  :  the   hero   resting   on   his  club ; 


92  JOHN  ADAMS 

Virtue  pointing  to  her  rugged  mountain  on  one  hand, 
and  persuading  him  to  ascend  ;  Sloth,  glancing  on  her 
flowery  paths  of  pleasure,  wantonly  reclining  on  the 
ground,  displaying  the  charms  both  of  her  eloquence 
and  person,  to  seduce  him  into  vice.  But  this  is  too 
complicated  a  group  for  a  seal  or  medal,  and  it  is  not 
original.— Zd'//<fr,  August  14,  1776. 


MILITARY    DISCIPLINE   AND    OBEDIENCE. 

There  is  such  a  mixture  of  the  sublime  and  the  beau- 
tiful, together  with  the  useful,  in  military  discipline, 
that  I  wonder  every  officer  we  have  is  not  charmed  with 
it.  ...  A  disciplinarian  has  affixed  to  him  commonly 
the  ideas  of  cruelty,  severity,  tyranny,  etc. ;  but  if  I 
were  an  officer,  I  am  convinced  that  I  should  be  the 
most  effective  disciplinarian  in  the  army.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  there  is  no  other  effective  way  of  indulging 
benevolence,  humanity,  and  the  tender  social  passions 
in  an  army.  There  is  no  other  way  of  preserving  the 
health  and  the  spirits  of  the  men.  There  is  no  other 
way  of  making  them  active  and  skilful  in  war  ;  no  other 
way  of  guarding  an  army  against  destruction  by  sur- 
prise ;  and  no  other  method  of  giving  them  confidence 
in  one  another — of  making  them  stand  by  one  another 
in  the  hour  of  battle.  Discipline  in  an  army  is  like  the 
laws  in  civil  society.  There  can  be  no  liberty  in  a  com- 
monwealth where  the  laws  are  not  revered  and  most  sa- 
credly observed  ;  nor  can  there  be  happiness  or  safety  in 
an  army  for  a  single  hour  where  the  discipline  is  not 
observed. — Obedience  is  the  only  thing  wanting  now 
for  our  salvation  : — obedience  to  the  laws  in  the  States, 
and  obedience  to  officers  in  the  army. — Letter,  August 
24,  1777. 

COST    OF    LIVING    IN    PHILADELPHIA. 

The  business  of  the  country  has  been  in  so  critical 
and  dangerous  a  situation  for  the  last  twelve  months 
that  it  was  necessary  that  Massachusetts  should  have  a 
full  representation  ;  but  the  expenses  of  living  are 
growr\  so  enormous  that  I  believe  it  will  be  necessary 


JOHN  ADAMS  98 

to  reduce  the  number  of  delegates  to  three,  after  the 
campaign  is  over. 

Prices  current :  Four  pounds  a  week  for  board,  besides 
finding  your  own  washing,  shaving,  candles,  liquors, 
pipes,  tobacco,  wood,  etc.  Thirty  shillings  a  week  for 
[the  board  of]  a  servant.  (It  ought  to  be  thirty  shillings 
for  a  gentleman  and  four  pounds  for  the  servant,  be- 
cause he  generally  eats  twice  as  much,  and  makes  twice 
as  much  trouble.)  Shoes,  five  dollars  a  pair.  Salt, 
twenty-seven  dollars  a  bushel.  Butter,  ten  shillings  a 
pound.  Punch,  twenty  shillings  a  bowl.  All  the  old 
women  and  young  children  are  gone  down  to  the  Jersey 
shore  to  make  salt.  Salt  water  is  boiling  all  round  the 
coast,  and  I  hope  it  will  increase  ;  for  it  is  nothing  but 
heedlessness  and  shiftlessness  that  prevents  us  from 
making  salt  enough  for  a  supply  ;  but  necessity  will 
bring  us  to  it.  As  to  sugar,  molasses,  rum,  etc.,  we  must 
leave  them  off.  Whiskey  is  used  here  instead  of  rum, 
and  I  don't  see  but  it  is  just  as  good.  Of  this  the  wheat 
and  rye  countries  can  easily  distil  enough  for  the  use  of 
the  country.  If  I  could  get  cider  I  would  be  content. — 
Letter^  August  2g,  1777 - 

HOPES   AND   FORECASTINGS. 

The  question  now  is,  whether  there  will  be  a  general 
engagement.  I  think  it  is  not  good  policy  for  us  to  at- 
tack them,  unless  we  can  get  a  favorable  advantage  of 
them  in  the  situation  of  the  ground,  etc.  I  think  it 
would  be  imprudent,  perhaps,  for  us,  with  our  whole 
force,  to  attack  them  with  all  theirs.  .  .  .  But  will  not 
Mr.  Howe  be  able  to  compel  us  to  a  general  engage- 
ment ?  Perhaps  he  may,  but  Washington  will  manoeuvre 
it  with  him  a  good  deal  to  avoid  it.  A  general  engage- 
ment, in  which  Howe  should  be  defeated,  would  be  ruin 
to  him.  If  we  should  be  defeated,  his  army  would  be 
crippled;  and  perhaps  we  might  suddenly  re-enforce  our 
army,  which  he  could  not.  All  that  he  could  gain  by  a 
victory  would  be  the  possession  of  this  town  [Philadel- 
phia], which  would  be  the  worst  position  he  could  be  in; 
because  it  would  employ  his  whole  force,  by  sea  and 
land,  to  keep  it  and  the  command  of  the  river. 


94  JOHN-  ADAMS 

Their  principal  dependence  is  not  upon  their  arms,  I 
believe,  so  much  as  upon  the  failure  of  our  revenue. 
They  think  they  nave  taken  such  measures — by  circu- 
lating counterfeit  bills — so  to  depreciate  the  currency 
that  it  cannot  hold  its  credit  longer  than  this  campaign. 
But  they  are  mistaken.  We  must  disappoint  them  by 
renouncing  all  luxuries,  and  by  a  severe  economy.  Gen- 
eral Washington  sets  a  fine  example.  He  has  banished 
wine  from  his  table,  and  entertains  his  friends  with  rum- 
and-water.  This  is  much  to  the  honor  of  his  wisdom, 
his  policy,  and  his  patriotism.  And  the  example  must 
be  followed  by  banishing  sugar  and  all  imported  articles 
from  our  families.  If  necessity  should  reduce  us  to  a 
simplicity  of  dress  and  diet  becoming  republicans,  it 
would  be  a  happy  and  a  glorious  necessity.     .     .     . 

Washington  has  a  great  body  of  militia  assembled  and 
assembling,  in  addition  to  a  grand  Continental  army. 
Whether  he  will  strike  or  not,  I  can't  say.  He  is  very 
prudent,  and  will  not  unnecessarily  hazard  his  army.  I 
should  put  more  to  risk,  if  I  were  in  his  shoes  ;  but  per- 
haps he  is  right.  ...  I  wish  that  Stark  had  the  com- 
mand in  the  Northern  Department.  I  am  sick  of  Fabian 
systems  in  all  quarters.  The  officers  drink  :  "  A  long 
and  moderate  war  !  "  My  toast  is  :  "A  short  and  vio- 
lent war !  "  They  would  call  me  mad,  rash,  etc.,  but  I 
know  better.  I  am  as  cool  as  any  of  them — and  cooler 
too — for  my  mind  is  not  inflamed  with  fear  nor  anger  ; 
whereas  I  believe  theirs  are  with  both.     .     .     . 

The  General  has  harangued  his  army,  and  published 
general  orders,  in  order  to  prepare  their  minds  for 
something  great.  Whether  he  expects  to  be  attacked, 
or  whether  he  designs  to  offend,  I  can't  say.  ...  If 
there  should  be  no  general  battle,  and  the  two  armies 
should  lounge  away  the  remainder  of  the  campaign,  in 
silent  inactivity,  gazing  at  each  other,  Howe's  reputa- 
tion would  be  ruined  in  his  own  country  and  in  all  Eu- 
rope, and  the  dread  of  him  would  cease  in  all  America. 
The  American  mind,  which,  I  think,  has  more  firmness 
now  than  it  ever  had  before,  since  this  war  began,  would 
acquire  a  confidence  and  strength  that  all  the  efforts 
of  Great  Britain  afterward  would  not  be  able  to  re- 
lax.    .     .     . 


'c 


JOHN  ADAMS  95  | 

I, 

The  moments  are  critical   here.     We  know  not  but  I 

the  next  will  bring  us  an  account  of  a  general  engage-  \ 

ment  begun  ;  and  when  once  begun,  we  know  not  how 
it  will  end.  All  that  we  can  do  is  to  pray  that  we  majr 
be  victorious  ;  at  least,  that  we  may  not  be  vanquished. 

But  if  it  should  be  the  will  of  Heaven  that  our  army  \ 

should   be   defeated,    and    Philadelphia   fall    into    Mr.  \ 

Howe's  hands,  still  America  is  not  conquered.   America  ,j 

would  yet  be  possessed  of  great  resources,  and  capable  j 

of  great  exertions.    It  may  be  the  design  of  Providence  '^. 

that  this  should  be  the  case  ;  because  it  would  only  lay  ■ 

the  foundations  of  American  Independence  deeper,  and  ' 

cement  them  stronger.     It   would  cure  Americans   of  ' 

their  vicious  and  luxurious  and  effeminate  appetites, 
passions,  and  habits — a  more  dangerous  army  to  Amer- 
ican liberty  than  Mr.  Howe's. 

However,  without  the  loss  of  Philadelphia,  we  must 
be  brought  to  an  entire  renunciation  of  foreign  commod- 
ities ;  at  least  of  West  Indian  produce.  People  are 
coming  to  this  resolution  very  fast  here.  Loaf-sugar  at 
four  dollars  a  pound,  wine  at  three  dollars  a  bottle,  etc., 
will  soon  introduce  economy  in  the  use  of  these  articles. 
This  spirit  of  economy  would  be  more  terrible  to  Great 
Britain  than  anything  else  ;  and  it  would  make  us  more 
respectable  in  the  eyes  of  all  Europe.  Instead  of  acri- 
monious altercations,  I  wish  that  my  countrymen  would 
agree  in  this  virtuous  resolution  of  depending  upon 
themselves  alone.  Let  them  make  salt,  and  live  without 
sugar  and  rum. — Letters^  August  2p,  September  <?,  7777. 


ADAMS,  John  Quincy,  sixth  President  of  the 
United  States,  eldest  son  of  John  Adams,  was  born 
at  Braintree,  Mass.,  July  ii,  1767;  died  at  Wash- 
ington, February  23,  1848.  In  1777  he  accompanied 
his  father  on  his  first  European  mission,  and  was 
placed  at  a  school  near  Paris  for  more  than  a  year, 
where  he  acquired  the  French  language.  He 
went  to  Europe  with  his  father  a  second  time  in 
1780;  and  in  1782  he  went  to  Russia  as  Secretary 
of  Legation  to  Mr.  Dana,  who  had  been  made 
Minister  at  St.  Petersburg.  In  1786  he  returned 
to  America,  and  entered  the  junior  class  at  Har- 
vard College  ;  afterward  studied  law  and  com- 
menced practice  in  Boston  in  1791.  He  soon 
attracted  attention  by  his  papers  on  public  matters, 
contributed  to  the  Boston  Centmel,  mainly  in  de- 
fence of  the  policy  of  President  Washington,  by 
whom,  in  1794,  he  was  appointed  Minister  to  Hol- 
land. His  father,  having  become  President  of  the 
United  States  in  1797,  appointed  him  Minister  at 
Berlin,  acting  by  the  express  advice  of  Washing- 
ton, who  wrote  that  he  considered  young  Adams 
"the  ablest  person  in  the  American  diplomatic 
service,"  and  that  "  merited  promotion  ought  not 
to  be  withheld  from  him  merely  because  he  was 
the  President's  son."  Upon  the  accession  of  Jef- 
ferson to  the  Presidency,  Adams  was  recalled,  and 
in  1801  he  resumed  the  practice  of  law  in  Boston. 


^  ^Wvt-     <^U^<-avCc/    cjTcL  ixA^I^ 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  97 

In  1803  he  was  chosen  to  the  United  States  Sen- 
ate from  Massachusetts.  He  was  elected  by  the 
Federal  party,  with  which  he  continued  to  act 
for  four  years.  This  party  was  now  signally  de- 
feated throughout  the  nation.  Mr.  Adams  sup- 
ported the  war-measures  of  the  Republican  party, 
and  was  not  re-elected  to  the  Senate.  In  1806  he 
was  made  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  Belles-lettres 
in  Harvard  College. 

Mr.  Madison  became  President  in  1809  and  ap- 
pointed Adams  as  Minister  to  Russia.  In  1813  he 
was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  commission  for  ne- 
gotiating the  Treaty  of  Ghent,  which  put  an  end 
to  the  war  with  Great  Britain  ;  and  he  was  soon 
made  resident  Minister  at  London.  He  returned 
to  America  in  181 7  to  fill  the  post  of  Secretary  of 
State  in  the  first  administration  of  Mr.  Monroe. 
When  Monroe's  second  term  drew  to  a  close,  six 
candidates  for  the  Presidency  were  brought  for- 
ward, all  of  them  prominent  in  the  Republican 
party,  and  three  of  them  members  of  Monroe's 
Cabinet.  Adams  received  the  support  of  the  ma- 
jority of  the  former  Federalists,  who  had  now  no 
real  existence  as  a  party. 

At  the  election  held  in  1824  Jackson  received 
99  electoral  votes;  Adams,  84;  Crawford,  41  ;  Clay, 
37.  No  one  having  a  majority,  the  election  de- 
volved upon  the  House  of  Representatives.  Craw- 
ford  received  the  vote  of  four  States,  Jackson 
that  of  seven ;  Adams,  receiving  the  vote  of  thir- 
teen States,  was  chosen  as  President.  At  the  next 
election,  in  1828,  he  was  signally  defeated  for  the 
Presidency  by  Andrew  Jackson.     In  1831  he  ac- 


98  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS 

cepted  the  Anti-Masonic  nomination  for  Congress 
from  the  Suffolk  district  of  Massachusetts,  which 
he  continued  to  represent  until  his  death,  seven- 
teen years  later,  making  himself  specially  promi- 
nent in  maintaining  the  right  of  petition  upon  the 
subject  of  slavery,  which  had  been  virtually  denied 
to  the  abolitionists. — In  November,  1846.  while 
on  the  point  of  leaving  Boston  for  Washington, 
he  had  a  shock  of  paralysis,  which  kept  him  from 
his  seat  for  several  months.  He  resumed  his  seat, 
but  rarely  spoke  in  Congress  after  that.  On  Feb- 
ruary 21,  1848,  he  had  a  second  stroke  while  in  the 
House,  and  died  two  days  later,  never  recovering 
more  than  partial  consciousness. 

John  Quincy  Adams  was  bus}?^  with  his  pen 
during  the  greater  part  of  his  life.  His  Journal, 
which  has  been  edited  by  his  son,  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  embodies  a  mass  of  highly  important  in. 
formation  in  regard  to  persons  and  events  of  his 
time.  His  Lectures  on  Rhetoric  and  Oratory,  de- 
livered during  his  Harvard  Professorship,  are 
rather  above  the  majority  of  treatises  of  this  class. 
Of  his  public  Speeches,  besides  those  pronounced 
in  Congress,  the  most  important  is  The  Jubilee  oj 
the  Constitution,  delivered  before  the  New  York 
Historical  Society,  April  30,  1839,  being  the  fif- 
tieth anniversary  of  the  inauguration  of  Washing- 
ton as  first  President  of  the  United  States. 

SECESSION    AND    NULLIFICATION. 

Recent  events  in  our  history  [i.e.  those  of  1832  et 
scq.\  to  which  the  rising  generation  of  our  country  can- 
not and  ought  not   to   close  Xh&r   eyes,  have   brought 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  99 

again  into  discussion  questions  which  at  the  period  to 
which  we  are  now  reverting  [1789]  were  at  the  deepest 
and  most  vital  interest  to  the  continued  existence  of 
the  Union  itself.  The  question  whether  any  one  State 
of  the  Union  had  the  right  to  secede  from  the  Confed- 
eracy at  her  pleasure  was  then  practically  solved.  The 
question  of  the  right  of  the  people  of  any  one  State  to 
nullify  within  her  borders  any  legislative  act  of  the 
General  Government  was  involved  in  that  of  the  right 
of  Secession,  without,  however,  the  most  obnoxious  feat- 
ure of  the  modern  doctrine  of  nullification  and  seces- 
sion— the  violation  of  the  plighted  faith  of  the  nullify- 
ing or  seceding  State.  Rhode  Island  had  not  only  neg- 
lected to  comply  with  the  requisitions  of  the  Confeder- 
ation-Congress to  supply  the  funds  necessary  to  fulfil 
the  public  engagements  ;  but  she  alone  had  refused  to 
invest  the  Congress  with  powers  indispensable  for  rais- 
ing such  supplies.  She  had  refused  to  join  in  the  united 
effort  to  re-vivify  the  suspended  animation  of  the  Con- 
federacy ;  and  she  still  defied  the  warning  of  her  sister 
States,  that  if  she  persevered  in  this  exercise  of  her 
sovereignty  and  independence,  they  would  leave  her 
alone  in  her  glory,  and  take  up  their  march  in  united 
column. 

North  Carolina,  not  more  remiss  than  her  sister  States 
in  the  fulfilment  of  her  obligations,  after  joining  them 
in  the  attempt  to  drav/  the  bonds  of  union  closer  to- 
gether by  a  new  compact,  still  refused  to  ratify  it. 
ilhode  Island  and  North  Carolina  still  held  back.  The 
Union  and  ^Vashington  marched  on  without  them. 
Their  right  to  secede  was  not  contested  ;  no  unfriendly 
step  to  injure  was  taken  ;  no  irritating  measure  to  pro- 
voke them  was  proposed.  The  door  was  left  open  for 
them  to  return,  whenever  the  proud  and  wayward  spirit 
of  State  Sovereignty  would  give  way  to  the  attractions 
of  clearer-sighted  self-interest  and  kindred  sympathies  ; 
and  when  within  two  years  they  did  return,  without  invi- 
tation or  repulsion,  they  were  received  with  open  arms. 

The  questions  of  secession,  or  of  resistance  under 
State  authority,  against  the  execution  of  the  laws  of 
the  Union  within  any  State  can  never  again  be  pre- 
sented under  circumstances  so  favorable  to  the  pretei 


KX>  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS 

sions  of  the  separate  States,  as  they  were  at  the  organ- 
ization of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  At 
that  time  Rhode  Island  and  North  Carolina  might 
justly  have  pleaded  that  their  sister  States  were  bound 
to  them  by  a  compact  into  which  they  had  voluntarily 
entered,  with  stipulations  that  it  should  undergo  no 
alteration  but  by  unanimous  consent.  That  the  Con- 
stitution was  a  confederate  Union  founded  upon  prin- 
ciples totally  different,  and  to  which  not  only  they  were 
at  liberty  to  refuse  their  assent,  but  which  all  the  other 
States  combined  could  not,  without  a  breach  of  their 
own  faith,  establish  among  themselves  without  the  free 
consent  of  all  the  partners  to  the  prior  contract ;  that 
the  Confederation  could  not  otherwise  be  dissolved  ; 
and  that,  by  adhering  to  it,  they  were  only  performing 
their  own  engagements  with  good  faith,  and  claiming 
their  own  unquestionable  rights. 

The  justification  of  the  people  of  the  eleven  States 
which  had  adopted  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  and  of  that  provision  of  the  Constitution  itself, 
which  had  prescribed  that  the  ratification  of  nine  States 
should  suffice  to  absolve  them  from  the  bonds  of  the 
old  Confederation,  and  to  establish  the  new  Govern- 
ment, as  between  themselves,  was  found  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  The  Con- 
federation had  failed  to  answer  the  purposes  for  which 
governments  are  instituted  among  men.  Its  powers, 
or  its  impotence,  operated  to  the  destruction  of  those 
ends  which  it  is  the  object  of  government  to  promote. 
The  people,  therefore — who  had  made  it  their  own  only 
by  their  acquiescence — acting  under  their  responsibility 
to  the  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  Universe,  absolved  them- 
selves from  the  bonds  of  the  old  Confederation,  and 
bound  themselves  by  the  new  and  closer  ties  of  the 
Constitution.  .  .  .  They  passed  upon  the  old  Con- 
federation the  same  sentence  which  they  had  pro- 
nounced in  dissolving  their  connection  with  the  British 
nation  ;  and  they  pledged  their  faith  to  each  other 
anew  to  a  far  closer  and  more  intimate  connection.  It 
is  admitted — it  was  admitted  then — that  the  people  of 
Rhode  Island  and  of  North  Carolina  were  free  to  reject 
the  new  Constitution  ;  but  not  that  they  could  justly 


JOHN-  QUINCY  ADAMS  jor 

claim  the  continuance  of  the  old  Confederation.  The 
law  of  political  necessity — expounded  by  the  judgment 
of  the  Sovereign  Constituent  People,  responsible  only 
to  God — had  abolished  that.  The  People  of  Rhode 
Island  and  of  North  Carolina  might  dissent  from  the 
more  perfect  Union,  but  they  must  acquiesce  in  the 
necessity  of  the  separation.  Of  that  separation  they 
soon  felt  the  inconvenience  to  themselves,  and  rejoined 
the  company  from  which  they  had  strayed.  The  num- 
ber of  primitive  States  has  since  doubled  by  voluntary 
and  earnest  applications  for  admission.  It  has  often 
been  granted  as  a  privilege  and  a  favor  ;  sometimes 
delayed  beyond  the  time  when  it  was  justly  due — and 
never  declined  by  any  one  State  entitled  to  demand  it. 
—  The  Jubilee  of  the  Constitution. 

OUR   EBAL    AND   GERIZIM. 

When  the  children  of  Israel,  after  forty  years  of 
wandering  in  the  wilderness,  were  about  to  enter  upon 
the  Promised  Land,  their  leader,  Moses,  who  was  not 
permitted  to  cross  the  Jordan  with  them,  just  before 
his  removal  from  among  them,  commanded  that  when 
the  Lord  their  God  should  have  brought  them  into  the 
land,  they  should  put  the  curse  upon  Mount  Ebal  and 
blessing  upon  Mount  Gerizim. 

Fellow  citizens  !  the  Ark  of  your  Covenant  is  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  Your  Mount  Ebal  is  the 
Confederacy  of  separate  State  Sovereignties  ;  and  your 
Mount  Gerizim  is  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 
In  that  scene  of  tremendous  and  awful  solemnity, 
narrated  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  there  is  not  a  curse 
pronounced  upon  the  people  upon  Mount  Ebal,  not  a 
blessing  promised  them  upon  Mount  Gerizim,  which 
your  posterity  may  not  suffer  or  enjoy  from  your  and 
their  adherence  to,  or  departure  from,  the  principles  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence,  practically  interwoven 
in  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  Lay  up  these 
principles  then,  in  your  hearts  and  in  your  souls  ;  bind 
them  for  signs  upon  your  hands,  that  they  may  be  as 
frontlets  between  your  eyes  ;  teach  them  to  your  chil- 
dren— speaking  of  them  when  sitting  in  your  houses, 
when  walking  by  the  way,  when  lying  down  and  when 


I02  JOFIN-  QUINCY  ADAMS 

rising  up;  write  them  upon  the  doorplates  of  your  houses, 
and  upon  your  gates  ;  cling  to  them  as  to  the  issues  of 
life  ;  adhere  to  them  as  to  the  cords  of  your  eternal 
salvation  !  So  may  your  children's  children,  at  the 
next  return  of  this  day  of  jubilee,  after  a  full  century 
of  experience  under  your  National  Constitution,  cele- 
brate it  again  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  all  the  bless- 
ings recognized  by  you  in  the  commemoration  at  this 
day,  and  of  the  blessings  promised  to  the  children  of 
Israel  upon  Mount  Gerizim,  as  the  reward  of  obedience 
to  the  Law  of  God, — The  Jubilee  of  the  Constitution. 

John  Quincy  Adams  made  several  translations 
from  French  and  German  authors.  Among  these 
is  a  decidedly  clever  rendering  of  the  Oberon  of 
Wieland.  He  also  wrote  no  little  poetry.  His 
longest  poem,  Dermot  MacMorrogJi,  relates  the 
Conquest  of  Ireland,  in  the  twelfth  century,  by 
the  English.  It  comprises  four  cantos,  containing 
in  all  nearly  three  hundred  stanzas,  and  is  worthy 
of  higher  appreciation  than  has  been  accorded  to 
it.  The  poem  concludes  with  setting  forth  the 
fate  of  the  traitor  Dermot,  and  the  subjugation  of 
Ireland: 

THE   FATE   OF   ERIN. 

And  now  the  priestly  legates  in  their  turn, 
Absolve  the  royal  penitent  from  guilt : 

No  more  the  Holy  Pontiff's  bowels  yearn 

For  vengeance,  on  the  blood  of  Becket  spilt : 

Profuse  his  gracious  favor,  in  return 

Confirms  the  deed  on  fraud  and  falsehood  built 

And  grants  what  Adrian  had  bestowed  before  : 

The  right  supreme  to  Erin's  verdant  shore. 

Thus  was  the  shame  of  servitude  her  lot ; 

And  has  been  since  from  that  detested  day. 
When  Dermot  all  his  country's  claims  forgot, 

And  basely  bartered  all  her  rights  away. 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  103 

Oh  !  could  the  Muse  be  heard,  his  name  should  rot 

In  fresh,  immortal,  unconsumed  decay, 
And  be  with  Arnold's  name  transmitted  down, 
First  in  the  roll  of  infamous  renown.     .     .     , 

He  first  with  daring  and  relentless  hand, 
Had  torn  of  friendship  and  of  love  the  ties  ; 

Had  rent  of  wedlock's  sacred  vows  the  band, 
And  taken  fraud  and  falsehood  for  allies. 

Expelled  with  justice  from  his  native  land, 
To  Albion's  tyrant  for  revenge  he  flies  ; 

Betrays  his  trust,  pays  homage  for  his  throne  ; 

And  seals  his  country's  ruin  with  his  own.     .     .     , 

And  now  concentrated,  burst  forth  his  rage, 
He  cursed  the  day  on  which  he  had  been  born  ; 

For  on  the  record  of  his  life  no  page 

Could  speak  of  comfort  to  his  state  forlorn  ; 

No  cordial  drop  of  memory  to  assuage, 
Of  fell  Remorse  the  vital-searching  thorn. 

A  burning  fever  seized  on  every  vein, 

And  mortal  madness  fastened  on  his  brain. 

And  to  their  wildered  senses,  Erin's  saints 
Appear  with  lighted  torches  in  their  hands, 

Applying  scorpion  scourges  till  he  faints. 
And  then  reviving  him  with  blazing  brands  ; 

While  o'er  his  head  a  frowning  Fury  paints 
In  letters  which  he  reads  and  understands  : 

"  Expect  no  mercy  from  thy  Maker's  hand  ! 

Thou  hadst  no  mercy  on  thy  Native  Land  !  " 

And  to  the  shades  the  indignant  spirit  fled  : 
And  thus  was  Erin's  conquest  first  achieved  ; 

Thus  Albion's  monarch  first  became  her  head. — 
And  now  her  freedom  shall  be  soon  retrieved. 

For  (mark  the  Muse,  if  rightly  she  has  read, 
Let  this  her  voice  prophetic  be  believed), 

Soon,  soon  shall  dawn  the  day — as  dawn  it  must, 

When  Erin's  sceptre  shall  be  Erin's  trust. 

And  here  I  hang  my  harp  upon  the  willow  ; 
And  will  no  longer  importune  the  Muse, 


I04  JOHN  QUINCY  ADA  MS 

Nor  woo  her  nightly  visits  to  my  pillow, 
Nor  more  implore  her  favor  or  abuse. — 

Brave  sons  of  Erin,  o'er  the  Atlantic  billow  ! 
The  harp  is  yours  !  will  you  to  hear  refuse? — 

Take,  take  it  back:  yourselves  the  strain  prolong  ; 

And  give  your  Dermot's  name  to  deathless  song. 

For,  oh  !  if  ever  on  the  roll  of  Time 

Since  man  has  on  this  blessed  planet  dwelt, 

A  soul  existed  saturate  with  crime. 
Or  the  deep  curse  of  after  ages  felt, 

Yours  was  his  country,  Erin  was  his  clime  ; 
Nor  yet  has  justice  with  his  name  been  dealt. 

My  voice,  alas,  is  weak,  and  cannot  sing. 

Touch,  touch  yourselves  the  never-dying  string ! 

Among  the  minor  poems  of  John  Quincy  Ad- 
ams, which  appeared  under  the  title  of  Poems  of 
Religion  and  Society,  perhaps  the  best  is  thtjeu 
d' esprit,  in  twenty -five  stanzas,  entitled  : 

THE    WANTS   OF   MAN. 
I. 

"  Man  wants  but  little  here  below,  nor  wants  that  little 

long." 
'Tis  not  with  me  exactly  so  ;  but  'tis  so  in  the  song. 
My  wants  are  many,  and  if  told,  would  muster  many  a 

score  ; 
And  were  each   wish  a  mint  of  gold,  I  still  should  long 

for  more. 

II. 

What  first  I  want  is  daily  bread,  and  canvass-backs  and 

wine ; 
And  all  the  realms  of  nature  spread  before  me  when  I 

dine. 
Four  courses  scarcely  can  provide  my  appetite  to  quell, 
With  four  choice  cooks  from  France  besides,  to  dress  my 

dinner  well; 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS  105 

VI. 

I  want,  when  Summer's  foliage  falls  and  Autumn  strips 
the  trees, 

A  house  within  the  city  walls,  for  comfort  and  for  ease. 

But  here,  as  space  is  somewhat  scant,  and  acres  some- 
what rare, 

My  house  in  town  I  only  want  to  occupy  a  square. 

VII. 

I  want  a  steward,  butler,  cook  ;  a  coachman,  footman, 

grooms  ; 
A  library  of  well-bound  books,  and  picture-garnished 

rooms  ; 
Correggios,  Magdalen,  and   Night,  the   Matron   of  the 

Chair  ; 
Guido's  fleet  Coursers  in  their  flight,  and  Claudes  at 

least  a  pair. 

XII. 

I  want — who  does  not  want  ? — a  wife,  affectionate  and 
fair. 

To  solace  all  the  woes  of  life,  and  all  its  joys  to  share  ; 

Of  temper  sweet,  of  yielding  will,  of  firm  yet  placid 
mind. 

With  all  my  faults  to  love  me  still,  with  sentiment  re- 
fined. 

XIII. 

And  as  Time's  car  incessant  runs,  and  Fortune  fills  my 

store, 
I  want  of  daughters  and  of  sons  from  eight  to  half  a 

score. 
I  want — alas,  can   mortal  dare  such  bliss  on  earth  to 

crave  ? 
That  all  the  girls  be  chaste  and  fair,  the  boys  all  wise 

and  brave. 


I  want  a  warm  and  faithful  friend,  to  cheer  the  adverse 

hour  ; 
Who  ne'er  to  flatter  will  descend,  nor  bend  the  knee  to 

power  ; 


lo6  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS 

A  friend  to  chide  me  when  I'm  wrong,  my  inmost  soul 

to  see, 
And  that  my  friendship  prove  as  strong  for  him  as  his 

to  me. 

XVIII. 

I  want  a  kind   and  tender  heart,  for  others*  wants  to 

feel ; 
A  soul  secure   from   Fortune's  dart,  and  bosom  armed 

with  steel, 
To  bear  divine  chastisement's  rod  ;  and  mingling  with 

my  plan, 
Submission  to  the  will  of  God,  with  charity  to  man. 

XXI. 

I  want  the  genius  to  conceive,  the  talents  to  unfold, 
Designs  the  vicious  to  retrieve,  the  virtuous  to  uphold; 
Inventive  power,  combining  skill,  a  persevering  soul, 
Of  human   hearts  to   mould   the  will,  and  reach  from 
pole  to  pole. 

XXIII. 

I  want  the  voice  of  honest  praise  to  follow  me  behind  ; 
And  to  be  thought  in  future  days  the  friend  of  human 

kind  ; 
That  after  ages,  as  they  rise,  exulting  may  proclaim, 
In   choral   union   to   the   skies,  their  blessings  on  my 

name. 

XXIV. 

These  are  the  wants  of  mortal  man  :  I   cannot  want 

them  long. 
For  life  itself  is  but  a  span,  and  earthly  bliss  a  song. — 
My  last  great  want — absorbing  all — is,  when   beneath 

the  sod, 
And  summoned  to  my  final  call,  the  mercy  of  my  God. 

XXV. 

And  oh !  while  circles  in  my  veins  of  life  the  purple 

stream, 
And  yet  a  fragment  small  remains  of  nature's  transient 

dream, 


JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS 


IC/i 


My  soul,  in  humble  hope  unscared,  forget  not  thou  to 
pray 

That  thus  thy  want  may  be  prepared  to  meet  the  Judg- 
ment Day. 

TO    A    SUN-DIAL. 

Thou  silent  herald  of  Time's  ceaseless  flight ! 

Say,  couldst   thou   speak,  what   warning  voice  were 
thine, 

Shade,  who  canst  only  show  how  others  shine  ! 
Dark,  sullen  witness  of  resplendent  Light 
In  day's  broad  glare,  and  when  the  noontide  bright 

Of  laughing  Fortune  sheds  the  ray  divine, 

Thy  ready  favors  cheer  us ;  but  decline 
The  clouds  of  morning  and  the  gloom  of  night. 
Yet  are  thy  counsels  faithful,  just  and  wise  : 

They  bid  us  seize  the  moments  as  they  pass, 
Snatch  the  retrieveless  sunshine  as  it  flies, 

Nor  lose  one  sand  of  life's  revolving  glass. 
Aspiring  still,  with  energy  sublime, 
By  virtuous  deeds  to  give  Eternity  to  Time. 


\ 

I 


ADAMS,  Sarah  Fuller  (Flower),  an  English 
poetess  and  hymn-writer,  was  born  at  Great  Har- 
low, Essex,  February  22,  1805;  "^^^^  married  to 
William  Bridges  Adams  (1795-1872),  the  inventor 
of  the  "  fish-joint "  and  numerous  other  railway  im- 
provements, in  1834;  and  died  in  August,  1848. 
Her  principal  work  is  Vivia  Perpetua  (1841),  a  dra- 
matic poem,  couched  throughout  in  a  fine  strain  of 
impassioned  emotion.  It  symbolizes,  in  the  guise 
of  Vivia's  conversion  to  Christianity,  the  writer's 
own  devotion  to  the  high  ideals  which  inspired 
her  life.  The  Royal  Progress,  a  long  poem  on  the 
surrender  of  the  Isle  of  Wight  to  Edward  I.,  ap. 
peared  in  1845.  Among  her  minor  works  were  a 
little  catechism  entitled  TJie  Flock  at  the  Fountain, 
many  poems  written  for  the  Anti-Corn  Law 
League,  and  numerous  contributions,  chiefly  in 
1834  and  1835,  to  the  Monthly  Repository.  Her 
hymns,  composed  for  use  in  the  services  at  Fins- 
bury  Chapel,  and  set  to  music  by  her  sister,  Eliza 
Flower,  can  hardly  be  surpassed  as  simple  expres- 
sions of  pure  and  passionate  devotional  feeling. 
The  lines  beginning  He  Scndeth  Sun,  He  Sendeth 
Shower  (1841),  are  exquisite  in  their  blended  fervor 
and  resignation.  Her  best-known  hymn,  Nearer, 
my  God,  to  Thee  (1841) — which  has  been  often  er- 
roneously attributed  to  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe— ^ 
is  sung  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 

fioS) 


SARAH  FULLER   ADAMS  L'x, 

Her  other  hymns,  most  of  which  have  come  into 
common  use,  are :  Part  in  Peace,  Christ's  Life 
ivas  Peace  (1841),  originally  sung-  in  Vivia  Pcrpetua 
by  the  persecuted  Christians,  at  the  close  of  Act 
iii.,  and  after  Vivia's  condemnation  in  Act  v.; 
Creator  Spirit,  Gently  Fall  the  Dezvs,  Sing  to  the 
Lord,  Darkness  Shrouded  Calvary,  Go  and  Watch 
the  Autnmn  Leaves,  The  Mourners  Came  at  Break 
of  Day,  O  I  Would  Sing,  O  Halloivcd  Memories, 
O  Love  I  Thou  Makest  All  Things  Even,  Part  in 
Peace  I  Is  the  Day  Before  Us  ?  (altogether  differ- 
ent from  the  former),  TJie  World  May  Change 
(translated  from  Schiller),  and  a  rendering  of 
F6n61on's  Living  or  Dying,  Lord,  I  Would  Be  Thine, 

NEARER,    MY    GOD,    TO   THEE. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee  ! 

Nearer  to  thee. 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me  ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 

Though  like  the  wanderer, 

The  sun  gone  down, 
Darkness  be  over  me, 

My  rest  a  stone. 
Yet  in  my  dreams  I'd  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 

There  let  the  way  appear, 

Steps  unto  Heaven  ; 
All  that  thou  sendest  me, 

In  mercy  given  ; 
Angels  to  beckon  me 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 


110  SARAH  FULLER  ADAMS 

Then,  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  thy  praise, 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs 
Bethel  I'll  raise  ; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee ! 

Or  if,  on  joyful  wing 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly, 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee! 

FAITH   IN    DIVINE   GOODNESS. 

He  sendeth  sun,  He  sendeth  shower, 
Alike  they're  needful  to  the  flower. 
And  joys  and  tears  alike  are  sent 
To  give  the  soul  fit  nourishment. 
As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 
Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  ! 

Can  loving  children  e'er  reprove 

With  murmurs  whom  they  trust  and  love  ? 

Creator,  I  would  ever  be 

A  trusting,  loving  child  to  Thee. 

As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun, 

Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  d'''ne  ! 

Oh !  ne'er  will  I  at  life  repine  ! 
Enough  that  Thou  hast  made  .    mine. 
When  falls  the  shadow  cold  of  death, 
I  yet  will  sing,  with  parting  breath. 
As  comes  to  me  or  cloud  or  sun. 
Father,  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  ! 


ADAMS,  William,  an  English  clergyman  and 
religious  writer,  was  born  in  Warwickshire  in 
1814;  died  at  Bonchurch,  Isle  of  Wight,  January 
17, 1848.  He  was  educated  at  Eton  and  at  Oxford, 
graduating  at  Oxford  with  the  highest  honors 
in  1836.  From  1837  to  1842  he  was  Fellow  and 
Tutor  at  Merton  College,  and  vicar  of  St.  Peter's 
at  Oxford.  His  first  volume,  Shadow  of  the  Cross, 
appeared  in  1842,  The  Distant  Hills  in  1844  5  then 
followed  TJie  Fall  of  Croesus,  The  Old  Majis  Home, 
and  The  King's  Messengers,  the  last  issued  but  a 
short  time  before  his  death.  These  allegories 
have  been  translated  into  a  number  of  European 
languages,  and  some  of  them  into  Bengalese,  and 
published  in  India. 


SCENE    IN    THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  i8th  of  April,  1843.  I 
had  been  long  gazing  upon  it,  and  had  imagined  that  I 
was  alone,  when  my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  sigh 
from  someone  near  me.  I  turned  round,  and  saw  a 
venerable  old  man  seated  upon  a  fragment  of  the  fallen 
cliff,  beneath  which  the  violets  were  very  thickly  clus- 
tering. His  hair  was  white  as  silver,  his  face  deeply 
furrowed,  and  yet  pervaded  by  a  general  expression  of 
childish  simplicity,  which  formed  a  strong  contrast  to 
the  lines  which  must  have  been  indented  upon  it  by 
care  and  suffering,  no  less  than  the  lapse  of  years.  I 
cannot  recall  the  words  of  the  chance  observation 
which  I  addressed  to  him,  but  it  related  to  the  lateness 
=ind  inclemency  of  the  season,  and  I  was  at  once  struck 

(HI) 


112  WILLIAM  ADAM:!i 

by  the  singularity  of  his  reply.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  said, 
musingly,  "the  winter  has  indeed  been  very  long  and 
dreary  ;  and  yet  it  has  been  gladdened,  from  time  to 
time,  by  glimpses  of  the  coming  spring." 

I  now  observed  him  more  closely.  There  was  a 
strangeness  in  his  dress  which  first  excited  my  sus- 
picion, and  I  fancied  that  I  could  detect  a  restlessness 
in  his  light  blue  eye  which  spoke  of  a  mind  that  had 
gone  astray.  "  Old  man,"  I  said,  "you  seem  tired  ;  have 
you  come  from  far  ? " 

"Ah,  woe  is  me,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  melancholy 
tone  as  before  ;  "  I  have  indeed  travelled  a  long  and  soli- 
tary journey  ;  and  at  times  I  am  weary,  very  weary  ; 
but  my  resting-place  now  must  be  near  at  hand." 

"  And  whither  then,"  I  asked,  "  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Home,  sir,  home,"  he  replied  ;  and  while  his  voice 
lost  its  sadness,  his  face  seemed  to  brighten,  and  his 
eye  grow  steady  at  the  thought,  "  I  hope  and  believe 
that  I  am  going  home." 

I  now  imagined  that  I  had  judged  him  hastily,  and 
that  the  answers  which  I  had  ascribed  to  a  wandering 
intellect  proceeded  in  truth  from  depth  of  religious 
feeling.  In  order  to  ascertain  this,  I  asked  :  "  Have 
you  been  long  a  traveller?" 

"  Fourscore  and  thirteen  years,"  he  replied ;  and  ob- 
serving my  look  of  assumed  wonder,  he  repeated  a  sec- 
ond time,  more  slowly  and  sadly  than  before,  "  Four- 
score and  thirteen  years." 

"  The  home,"  I  said,  "  must  be  very  far  off  that  re- 
quires so  long  a  journey." 

"  Nay,  nay,  kind  sir,  do  not  speak  thus,"  he  answered  ; 
"  our  home  is  never  far  off ;  and  I  might  perhaps  have 
arrived  at  it  years  and  years  ago.  But  often  during  the 
early  spring  I  stopped  to  gather  the  flowers  that  grew 
beneath  my  feet ;  and  once  I  laid  me  down  and  fell 
asleep  upon  the  way.  And  so  more  than  fourscore  and 
thirteen  years  have  been  wanted  to  bring  me  to  the 
home  which  many  reach  in  a  few  days.  Alas  !  all 
whom  I  love  most  dearly  have  long  since  passed  me  on 
the  road,  and  I  am  now  left  to  finish  my  journey 
alone." 

During  this  reply  I  had  become  altogether  ashamed 


WILLIAM  ADAMS  113 

of  my  former  suspicion,  and  I  now  looked  into  the  old 
man's  face  with  a  feeling  of  reverence  and  love.  The 
features  were  unchanged  ;  but  instead  of  the  childish 
expression  which  I  had  before  observed,  I  believed  them 
to  be  brightened  with  the  heavenliness  of  the  second 
childhood,  while  the  restlessness  of  the  light  blue  eye 
only  spoke  to  me  of  an  imagination  which  loved  to  wan- 
der amid  the  treasures  of  the  unseen  world.  I  pur- 
posely, however,  continued  the  conversation  under  the 
same  metaphor  as  before.  "  You  have  not,  then,"  I 
said,  "been  always  a  solitary  traveller?" 

"  Ah,  no,"  he  replied  ;  "  for  a  few  years  a  dear  wife  was 
walking  step  by  step  at  my  side  ;  and  there  were  little 
children,  too,  who  were  just  beginning  to  follow  us. 
And  I  was  so  happy  then,  that  I  sometimes  forgot  we 
were  but  travellers,  and  fancied  that  I  had  found  a 
home.  But  my  wife,  sir,  never  forgot  it.  She  would 
again  and  again  remind  me  that  '  we  must  so  live  to- 
gether in  this  life,  that  in  the  world  to  come  we  might 
have  life  everlasting.'  They  are  words  that  I  scarcely 
regarded  at  the  time,  but  I  love  to  repeat  them  now. 
They  speak  to  me  of  meeting  her  again  at  the  end  of 
our  journey." 

"  And  have  all  your  children  left  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  All,  all,"  he  replied.  "  My  wife  took  them  with  her 
when  she  went  away.  She  stayed  with  me,  sir,  but 
seven  years,  and  left  me  on  the  very  day  on  which  she 
came.  It  seems  strange  now  that  I  could  have  lived 
with  them  day  after  day  without  a  thought  that  they 
were  so  near  their  journey's  end,  while  I  should  travel 
onward  so  many  winters  alone.  It  is  now  sixty  years 
since  they  all  went  home,  and  have  been  waiting  for 
me  there.  But,  sir,  I  often  think  that  the  time,  which 
has  seemed  so  long  and  dreary  to  me,  has  passed 
away  like  a  few  short  hours  to  them." 

"  And  are  you  sure,  then,"  I  said,  "that  they  are  all 
gone  home?"  It  was  a  thoughtless  question,  and  I 
repented  the  words  almost  before  they  were  spoken. 
The  tears  rose  quickly  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  and  his 
voice  trembled  with  emotion,  as  he  replied  :  "  Oh,  sir, 
do  not  bid  me  doubt  it.  Surely,  every  one  of  them  is 
gone  home  ;  one,  at  least,  of  the  number,  is  undoubtedly 
Vol.  I 8 


114  WILLIAM  ADAMS 

there  ;  and  they  all  went  away  together,  as  though 
they  were  travelling  to  the  same  place  ;  besides,  sir, 
my  wife  was  constantly  speaking  to  them  of  their  home  ; 
and  would  not  their  journey  as  well  as  my  own  have 
been  prolonged,  if  their  home  had  not  been  ready  for 
them  ?  And  when  I  think  of  them  I  always  think  of 
home  ;  am  I  not,  then,  right  in  believing  that  all  of 
them  are  there  ? " 

There  were  allusions  in  this  answer  which  I  did  not 
at  the  time  understand  ;  but  the  old  man's  grief  was 
too  sacred  for  me  to  intrude  farther  upon  it.  I  felt, 
also,  that  any  words  of  my  own  v.ould  be  too  feeble  to 
calm  the  agitation  which  my  thoughtless  observation 
had  caused.  I  merely  repeated  a  passage  from  Holy 
Scripture  in  reply  :  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in 
the  Lord,  even  so  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest  from 
their  labours." 

The  old  man's  face  again  brightened,  and  as  he  wiped 
away  the  tears  he  added  :  "And  'Blessed,'  also, 'are 
they  that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted.'  There 
is  not  only  a  blessing  for  those  who  have  been  taken  to 
their  rest,  but  there  is  the  image  of  that  blessing  to  cheer 
the  old  man  who  is  left  to  pursue  his  solitary  journey." 

At  this  moment  the  sun,  which  had  been  obscured 
by  a  passing  cloud,  suddenly  shone  forth,  and  its  rays 
were  reflected  by  a  path  of  gold  in  the  silent  waters. 
The  old  man  pointed  to  it  with  a  quiet  smile  ;  the 
change  was  in  such  harmony  with  his  own  thoughts, 
that  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  metaphor  it  suggested  to 
him.  "There,"  said  he,  "is  the  blessing  of  the 
mourner  !  See  !  hov/  it  shines  down  from  the  heaven 
above,  and  gilds  with  its  radiance  the  dreary  sea  of  life." 

"True,"  I  replied;  "and  the  sea  of  life  would  be  no 
longer  dreary,  if  it  were  not  for  the  passing  clouds 
which  at  times  keep  back  from  it  the  light  of  Heaven." 
His  immediate  answer  to  this  observation  proved  the 
image,  which  he  had  employed,  to  be  one  long  familiar 
to  his  own  mind.  "There  are  indeed  clouds,"  he  said, 
"but  they  are  never  in  Heaven  ;  they  hover  very  near 
the  earth  ;  and  it  is  only  because  our  sight  is  so  dim 
and  indistinct  that  they  seem  to  be  in  the  sky." — The 
Old  Man's  Home. 


ADAMS,  William  Davenport,  British  jour- 
nalist, literary  and  dramatic  critic,  son  of  William 
Henry  Davenport  Adams,  was  born  at  Brixton, 
Surrey,  in  1851.  He  was  educated  at  Merchant 
Taylors'  School  and  at  Edinburgh  University.  He 
has  been  connected  with  both  daily  and  weekly 
papers,  and  for  many  years  was  an  editorial  writer 
on  the  Globe.  Among  his  published  works  are  : 
Lyrics  of  Love  from  Shakespeare  to  Tennyson  (1873), 
Dictionary  of  English  Literature  (1877),  Quipps  and 
Quiddities  (1881),  Modern  Anecdotes  (1886),  By- 
ways in  Book-land,  essays  (1889),  Rambles  in  Book- 
land,  essays  (1890),  A  Book  of  Burlesque  (1891), 
With  Poet  and  Player,  essays  (1891),  and  A  Diction- 
ary of  the  Drama. 


THE   REIGN    OF    ROMANCE. 

Attention  is  frequently  called  to  the  fact  that  the 
most  popular  fictions  of  to-day  belong  to  the  region  of 
the  fanciful.  Romance,  it  is  pointed  out,  reigns  tri- 
umphant at  the  circulating  libraries.  And  no  doubt, 
for  the  moment,  that  is  so.  Nor  is  the  fact  so  very  re- 
markable as  it  is  sometimes  thought.  It  would  have 
been  strange  indeed  if  there  had  not  speedily  been  a 
reaction  against  the  species  of  story-telling  which  has 
so  long  been  paramount  among  us.  For  a  considerable 
period  the  "bread  and  butter"  and  "blood  and  thun- 
der "  schools  have  had  things  very  much  their  own  way. 
Of  late  the  so-called  realistic  school  has  had  an  occa- 
sional inning,  but,  for  the  most  part,  the  field  has  been 
occupied  by  the  "  domestic  "  and  the  "  sensation?!  " — 


Il6  WILLIAM  DAVEN'PORT  ADAMS 

the  story  of  the  stable  and  the  still-room,  the  tale  of  the 
tremendous  and  the  terrible.  The  readers  of  fiction  have 
alternated,  in  the  main,  between  these  two  literary 
genres,  and  it  was  to  be  expected  that  there  would  be  a 
rebound  from  work  so  theatrical  on  the  one  hand  and 
so  namby-pamby  on  the  other.  The  need  for  some- 
thing more  genuinely  imaginative  was  too  clamant  to 
remain  long  unsupplied. 

But,  in  truth,  there  has  always  been,  and  always  will 
be,  a  demand  for  the  romantic  in  prose  narrative.  It 
iiiy  be  more  obvious  or  persistent  at  one  time  than  at 
another,  but  it  always  exists  to  some  extent.  Among  the 
young  it  never  expires  altogether,  and  it  grows  in  ear- 
nestness with  the  growth  of  the  mind.  The  boy  who  has 
been  fed  on  "  Robinson  Crusoe  "  and  "  Gulliver's  Trav- 
els" insists  upon  having  their  modern  equivalents,  and 
the  production  of  stories  and  hairbreadth  'scapes  by 
flood  and  field  keeps  the  pens  of  a  dozen  or  more 
ivriters  perpetually  at  work.  Probably  no  boys'  books 
of  recent  years  have  been  so  highly  esteemed  as  those 
of  Jules  Verne  ;  and  they,  we  all  know,  are  romantic  in 
the  extreme,  soaring  to  heights  of  fancy  to  which  the 
A-imards,  the  Mayne  Reids,  the  Edgars,  and  the  King- 
^tons  of  the  past  never  by  any  possibility  aspired.  The 
feminine  mind  is  even  more  imaginative  than  the  male, 
and  girls  in  their  teens  absorb  at  every  pore  the  most 
fantastic  narratives  on  which  they  can  lay  their  hands. 
The  adult  intellect,  naturally,  is  more  balanced  ;  but, 
probably,  the  older  that  one  gets,  the  more  prone  one 
is  to  put  aside  the  realistic  representations  of  life  in 
favor  of  the  fanciful.  The  more  keenly  we  feel  that  the 
romance  is  going  out  of  our  own  existence,  the  more 
desirous  we  are  to  seek  it  and  enjoy  it  in  the  realm  of 
fiction. 

It  is  extremely  likely  that  hundreds  of  very  excellent 
people  are  devoted  to  literature  of  this  sort  without 
knowing  it.  They  read  an  infinitude  of  what  they,  and 
others,  call  simply  "novels,"  without  stopping  to  dis- 
tinguish what  kind  of  stories  they  are.  And  yet  the 
difference  between  the  novel  and  the  romance  ought  to 
be  readily  discernible.  There  is  nothing  in  common 
between  the  two  except  that  they  are   the  products  of 


WILLIAM  DAVENPORT  ADAMS  117 

the  invention.  Tlie  kinds  of  invention  employed  are 
obviously  distinct.  The  novelist  takes  the  characters 
and  events  of  every  day,  and  invents  new  combinations 
for  them.  He  does  not  supply  his  own  material,  that  is 
furnished  for  him  by  nature.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  pre- 
sent it  to  the  reader  in  fresh  forms.  To  a  certain  ex- 
tent he  is  a  photographer  ;  his  art  consists  in  the  skill 
with  which  he  arranges  the  details.  This  much  is  cer- 
tain— that  he  must  not  go  outside  the  bounds  of  the 
possible  or  the  probable.  And  therein  lies  his  limited 
sphere  as  compared  with  that  of  the  romancist,  to  whose 
imaginative  flights  no  bounds  are  placed.  The  roman- 
cist is  the  "chartered  libertine"  of  fiction.  Like  the 
British  army,  he  can  go  anywhere  and  do  anything.  He 
can  soar  into  the  heavens  above  or  dive  into  the  earth 
beneath.  While  the  novelist  is  chained  to  the  surface 
of  society,  the  romancist  can,  if  he  chooses,  descend 
with  his  fascinated  readers  into  "  the  waters  that  are 
under  the  earth." — Rambles  in  Book-land. 

THE    POETRY    OF    PATRIOTISIVI. 

The  editor  of  the  selection  from  the  lyrical  poems  of 
Mr.  Alfred  Austin  draws  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
poet  is  pre-eminently  a  lover,  not  only  of  the  coun- 
try, but  of  country — a  lover,  not  only  of  England  as  a 
geographical  unit,  but  of  England  as  a  nation.  The  claim 
is  well  based,  and  can  be  sustained.  It  is  perfectly 
true  ;  Mr.  Austin  is  one  of  the  most  patriotic  of  our 
verse-men.  Where'er  he  roams,  whatever  realms  he 
sees,  his  heart,  untravelled,  fondly  turns  to  England  : 

I  cherish  still,  and  hold  apart 
The  fondest  feeling  in  my  heart 
For  where,  beneath  one's  parent  sky, 
Our  dear  ones  live,  our  dead  ones  lie. 

For  him  this  land  is  "  this  privileged  Isle  this  brave, 
this  blest,  this  deathless  England."  He  bids  "  fair, 
proud  England"  be  "proud,  fair  England  still,"  and, 
meanwhile,  declines  to  believe  that  she  has  "fallen  like 
Rome  "  or  any  other  empire  of  the  past. 

Happily,  in  all  this  affection  for,  and  pride  in,  his  na- 


Il8  WILLIAM  DAVENPORT  ADAMS 

tive  country,  Mr.  Austin  does  not  by  any  means  stand 
alone.  The  line  of  English  patriot-poets  is  along  one, 
and  as  distinguished  as  it  is  long.  It  began  with  great 
brilliance.  There  was  Warner  with  his  "Albion's  Eng- 
land," and  Daniel  with  his  "  Civil  Wars,"  and  Drayton 
with  his  "  Poly-Olbion  "  and  "  Baron's  Wars  "  and  "  Bat- 
tle of  Agincourt,"  and  Browne  with  his  "Britannia's 
Pastorals" — all  of  them  devoted,  more  or  less,  to  the 
praise  of  the  country  to  which  the  poets  belonged,  and 
for  which  they  had  a  sentiment  of  genuine  admiration. 
Never,  however,  have  there  been  such  splendid  testi- 
monies as  our  premier  poet-dramatist  paid  to  the  charms 
— the  virtues  and  the  achievements — of  this  tiny  isle,  this 
*•  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart,"  this  "  precious  stone 
set  in  a  silver  sea."  Shakespeare,  as  I  have  said  in  a 
former  volume,  appears  to  have  had  for  England  an 
absorbing  passion,  which  found  vent  in  tributes  more 
magnificent  than  any  other  land  has  ever  obtained  at  the 
hands  of  its  rhymers. 

After  this,  the  strain  of  eulogy  was,  for  a  certain  period, 
arrested.  The  men  of  the  Commonwealth  had  some- 
thing weightier  to  do  than  to  be  the  Laureates  of  pa- 
triotism ;  those  of  the  Restoration  and  the  Revolution 
were  too  largely  influenced  by  foreign  habits  of  thought 
or  by  solicitude  about  their  heads  to  think  much,  if  at 
all,  of  the  purely  patriotic  side  of  life.  In  the  one  case 
they  were  too  indifferent  in  feeling,  and  in  the  other 
too  partisan  in  their  methods  to  consecrate  their  pens 
to  the  service  and  celebration  of  their  country.  Later 
on,  our  poets  began  to  discourse  of  the  beauties  of 
England  as  a  dwelling-place.  Pope  wrote  of  Windsor 
Forest,  Dyer  of  Grongar  Hill,  and  so  on,  maintaining 
the  tradition  of  Drayton  in  poetic  topography;  singing 
the  praises  of  picturesque  and  interesting  localities. 
The  first  truly  patriotic  note  after  Shakespeare  was 
struck  by  Thomson  in  that  "  Rule  Britannia"  which  has 
survived  with  wonderful  freshness  the  most  laboriously 
hackneyed  treatment — much,  no  doubt,  to  the  surprise 
of  the  author,  if  he  is  ever  permitted  to  revisit  the 
glimpses  of  the  moon.  The  eighteenth  century  must 
have  been  for  the  English  people  an  era  of  patriotic 
moments,  or  Thomson  could  never  have  been  inspired 


WILLIAM  DAVENPORT  ADAMS  119 

to  conceive  and  complete  so  sturdy  an  utterance  of 
national  feeling.  This  was  the  period  in  which  Collins 
wrote  his  "  Ode  to  Liberty,"  with  its  invitation  to  the 
typical  Englishman  to  "  read  Albion's  fame  in  every 
age  ;  "  and  it  is  to  Collins,  also,  that  we  owe  that  im- 
pressive dirge  in  which  praise  is  given  to 

The  brave  who  rest, 
Ey  all  their  country's  wishes  blessed. 


As  it  happily  happens,  Tennyson  has  in  no  sense 
been  isolated  in  this  matter.  The  humblest,  as  well  as 
the  greatest,  of  his  contemporaries  have  emulated  him 
in  this  phase  of  song.  Eliza  Cook  was  but  a  gentle 
poetaster  ;  nevertheless,  she  wrote  a  few  lyrics,  such  as 
"  The  Englishman  " — 

'Tis  the  star  of  earth,  deny  it  who  can. 
The  island  home  of  the  Englishman. 

•'The  Flag  of  the  Free,"  "The  Ploughshare  of  Old 
England,"  and  so  on,  which,  in  their  modest  way,  did 
much  to  create  and  maintain  among  us  a  strong  na- 
tional sentiment.  Open  the  poetical  works  of  Gerald 
Massey  and  you  will  be  struck  by  the  enthusiasm  and 
entrain  with  which  that  poet  of  the  people  celebrates 
and  illustrates  the  patriotic  principle.  His  pages  over- 
flow with  praises  of  the  mother  country,  with  pride  in 
her  past  and  faith  in  her  future.  The  measures  are 
homely,  but  they  are  generous  and  sincere  : 

Old  England  still  throbs  with  the  muiP.ed  fire 

Of  a  Past  she  can  never  forget  ; 
And  again  she  shall  herald  the  world  up  higher  ; 

For  there's  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet. 

Even  so  unassertive  and  contemplative  a  poet  as 
Arthur  Clough  could  not  help  breaking  out  into  a 
tribute  to  the  "  green  fields  of  England."  And  the 
men  who  are  writing  actively  to-day  maintain  with  ad- 
mirable earnestness  and  vigor  the  note  which  rings 
through  the  verse  of  Shakespeare,  Wordsworth,  Tenny- 
son.    It  was  only  the  other  day  that  Mr.  Lewis  Morris 


t2o  WILLIAM  DAVENPORT  ADAMS 

penned  an  eloquent  **  Song  of  Empire ;"  and  we  all 
know  how  of  late  years  Mr.  Swinburne  has  come  to 
the  front  as  a  splendid  eulogist  of  the  land  which  gave 
him  birth  : 

Thou,  though  the  world  should  misdoubt  thee, 

Be  strong  as  the  seas  at  thy  side  ; 
Bind  on  thine  armor  about  thee 

That  girds  thee  with  power  and  with  pride. 
Where  Drake  stood,  where  Blake  stood, 

Where  fame  sees  Nelson  stand, 
Stand  thou  too,  and  now  too 

Take  thou  thy  fate  in  thy  hand. 

—  With  Poet  and  Player.^ 


ADAMS,  William  Henry  Davenport,  Eng. 
lish  journalist,  compiler,  and  author,  was  born  at 
Buxton,  Surrey,  England,  in  1829;  died  Decem- 
ber 30,  1 891.  He  was  for  a  short  time  the  editor 
of  a  provincial  newspaper.  He  then  removed  to 
London,  where  he  became  connected  with  many 
of  the  leading  periodicals.  After  some  years 
spent  in  journalism,  he  began  to  compile,  trans- 
late, and  write  books  on  history,  biography,  geog- 
raphy, and  various  other  subjects.  Among  the 
numerous  works  which  he  published  are:  Memo- 
rable Battles  ill  English  History  (1862);  Marvels  of 
Creation  (1867);  Franco-Prussian  War  (1871);  St. 
Paul,  his  Life,  his  Work,  and  his  Writings  (1875); 
By-ways  of  English  Literature  (1875);  Celebrated 
English  Women  of  the  Victorian  Era  (1884);  Moun- 
tains and  Mountain  Climbing  (iSS4)  ;  Egypt,  Past  and 
Present  (1885)  ;  A  Concordance  to  Shakespeare  (1885)  ; 
England  at  War  {iZ'^G);  Good  Queen  Anne  (1886); 
Lndia,  Pictorial  and  Descriptive  {\Z^f)',  Makers  of 
British  India  (1888)  ;  The  White  King ;  or,  Charles  the 
First  (1888)  ;  Essays  on  Literary  Subjects  (1888)  ;  The 
Maid  of  Orleans  (1889).  He  never  entirely  aban- 
doned journalism,  and  from  1870  to  1877  edited 
The  Scottish  Guardian, 


(121) 


122         WILLIAM  HENRY  DAVENPORT  ADAMS 


AKBARS   LAST   YEARS   AND   DEATH. 

The  misconduct  of  his  sons  darkened  the  closing 
years  of  the  great  Emperor.  Sehm,  afterward  the 
Emperor  Jahanger,  possessed  excellent  abilities  ;  but 
in  all  other  respects  contrasted  unfavorably  with  his 
father  and  grandfather.  Naturally  of  an  austere  tem- 
per, it  had  been  inflamed,  and  at  the  same  time  his  in- 
tellect enfeebled,  by  the  immoderate  use  of  wine.  He 
himself  tells  us  in  his  autobiography — all  the  Mughal 
emperors,  by  the  way,  inherited  Babar's  autobiographic 
tastes — that  in  his  youth  he  took  at  least  twenty  cups 
of  wine  daily,  each  cup  containing  half  a  soi,  that  is, 
six  ounces,  or  nearly  half  a  pint  (the  amount  seems  in- 
credible), and  that  if  he  went  a  single  hour  without  his 
beverage,  his  hands  began  to  shake,  and  he  was  unable 
to  sit  at  rest.  Opium-drinking  was  another  of  his 
vices.  The  severe  and  didactis  minister-historian,  Abul 
Fazl,  he  had  always  regarded  as  his  natural  enemy  ;  and 
it  was  partly  as  a  concession  to  this  feeling  of  his  son's 
that  Akbar  sent  his  minister  to  the  Deccan.  In  1602 
the  prince  contrived  his  murder,  employing  as  his  agent 
Narsing  Deo,  Raja  of  Orcha,  who  inveigled  him  into 
an  ambuscade,  overpowered  him  and  his  court,  and  sent 
his  head  to  the  prince.  The  loss  of  his  principal  advis- 
er— his  son's  share  in  which  he  seems  never  to  have 
known  or  suspected — was  a  great  blow  to  Akbar.  He 
wept  bitterly,  and  passed  two  days  and  nights  without 
food  or  sleep ;  and  he  despatched  an  army  against 
Narsing  Deo,  with  orders  to  seize  his  family,  lay  waste 
his  territory,  and  inflict  other  severities  from  which,  in 
his  ordinary  frame  of  mind,  Akbar  would  certainly  have 
shrunk. 

His  third  son,  Prince  Daniyal,  brought  much  sorrow 
and  shame  on  Akbar's  gray  hairs.  He,  too,  was  ad- 
dicted to  intemperance  ;  and  his  terrible  excesses  finally 
killed  him  in  1604,  when  he  was  only  in  his  thirtieth 
year.  His  health  for  some  time  previous  had  been 
lamentably  feeble;  and  the  Emperor,  besides  exacting 
from  him  his  word  of  honor  that  he  would  drink  no 
more  wine,  surrounded  him  with   trusty  officers  to  pre- 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DAVENPORT  ADAMS        123 

vent  him  from  gratifying  his  unhappy  craving.  But, 
with  the  cunning  of  the  dipsomaniac,  the  prince  con- 
trived to  outwit  them.  He  had  his  liquor  conveyed  to 
him  secretly  in  the  barrel  of  a  fowling-piece,  and  speed- 
ily drank  himself  to  death. 

The  Emperor,  an  old  man,  whose  strength  had  been 
taxed  for  nearly  half  a  century  by  the  burden  of  em- 
pire, was  unable  to  bear  the  additional  pressure  of 
domestic  troubles.  He  had  been  for  some  time  ailing, 
when,  in  September,  1605,  his  complaint  suddenly  as- 
sumed a  most  unfavorable  aspect.  Feeling  that  his  end 
was  approaching,  he  hastened  to  set  in  order  the  vast 
affairs  of  his  extended  empire,  so  that  his  successor 
might  have  no  difficulty  in  taking  up  the  various  threads. 
His  laborious  task  completed,  he  sent  for  his  son  Selim, 
and  bade  him  summon  to  his  presence  all  his  omrahs, 
"for  I  cannot  endure,"  he  said,  "that  any  misunder- 
standing should  exist  between  you  and  those  who  for 
so  many  years  have  shared  in  my  toil  and  been  the  as- 
sociates of  my  glory." — Warriors  of  the  Crescent. 


"li 


ADAMS,  William  Taylor  (pseudonym,  Oli- 
ver Optic),  an  American  writer  of  juvenile  fiction, 
was  born  in  Med  way,  Mass.,  July  30,  1822;  died 
March  27, 1897.  He  was  for  twenty  years  a  teacher 
in  the  public  schools  of  Boston,  for  many  years  a 
member  of  the  school  board  of  Dorchester,  and 
served  for  one  year  in  the  Massachusetts  Leg- 
islature. With  the  exception  of  one  or  two  vol- 
umes for  grown  people.  The  Way  of  the  World 
and  Living  Too  Fast,  his  writings  consist  of  stories 
for  boys,  of  which  he  produced  the  unprecedented 
number  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five.  It  is 
said  that  more  than  two  million  copies  of  his  books 
have  found  their  way  into  the  hands  of  readers. 

His  first  book  was  issued  in  1853,  under  the 
title  Hatchie,  the  Guardian  Slave.  Its  sale  was 
very  large,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  collection  of 
stories  entitled  In  Doors  and  Out.  In  1862  ap- 
peared the  Rivcrdale  Series,  in  six  volumes.  Then 
came  the  Starry  Flag  Series,  Army  and  Navy  Se- 
ries, and  the  Woodville  Stories.  His  latest  works 
include  On  the  Blockade,  Stand  by  the  Union,  A 
Young  Knight-errant,  and  Strajige  Sights  Abroad, 

UNDER    THE    FLAG    OF   MOROCCO. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  craft  was  near  enough  to  be 
made  out  in  detail.  It  was  a  steamer  of  about  four 
hundred  tons,  the  commander  judged,  and  somewiLr^ 
peculiar  in  her  construction.     She  was  **lon§^  low.  ar.4 


WILLIAM   TAYLOR  ADAMS  125 

rakish/*  as  piratical  schooners  were  described  in  former 
times.  She  had  two  masts  with  an  excessive  rake,  to 
which  the  smokestack  corresponded.  She  was  of  most 
symmetrical  build,  and  all  in  the  pilot-house  called  her 
handsome. 

The  commander  and  Mr.  Boulong  observed  her  very 
attentively  through  their  spy-glasses.  Her  colors  were 
set  at  the  main  peak,  and  she  sported  a  burgee  at  the 
foremast  head.  The  glasses  were  directed  to  the  colors, 
which  the  observers  had  thus  far  been  unable  to  make 
out.  The  flag  was  peculiar  ;  the  captain  and  the  first 
officer  were  familiar  with  those  of  all  nations  ;  but  the 
northeast  wind  carried  it  over  so  far  that  it  could  not 
be  seen  distinctly. 

*'  I  think  that  is  the  flag  of  Morocco,"  said  one  of  the 
Portuguese  gentlemen. 

"  And  that  looks  like  the  Pacha's  steam-yacht,"  added 
the  other. 

"  I  recognize  the  flag  now,"  said  Captain  Ringgold. 
"  It  looks  more  like  a  red  table-cloth,  with  a  border  of 
half-diamonds  in  white,  and  a  pair  of  sheep-shears  in 
the  middle.  AVho  is  the  Pacha  to  whom  you  allude,  Don 
Roderigue  ?  We  have  just  come  from  Mogadore,  and 
possibly  we  may  have  seen  him." 

"  He  is  an  immensely  wealthy  Moorish  gentleman, 
who  holds  a  high  place  in  the  army,  and  has  been  gov- 
ernor, or  Kaid,  of  the  province  in  which  he  resides," 
replied  Don  Roderigue. 

''He  is  not  thirty  years  old,  and  is  called  the  hand- 
somest man  that  ever  comes  to  Funchal  ;  but  we  are  al- 
ways very  sorry  to  see  his  yacht  approaching  our  shore." 

"Why  so  ?" 

"He  is  a  Mohammedan,  but  does  not  live  up  to  his 
creed.  He  was  educated  in  Paris,  and  once  lived  in 
London.  He  drinks  too  much  wine  over  here,  and  is  a 
reckless,  unprincipled  scoundrel,"  continued  the  Portu- 
guese gentleman.  "  We  do  not  think  our  wives  and 
daughters  are  safe  v/hen  he  is  in  Funchal,  and  we  shut 
them  up." 

"  We  have  met  the  gentleman,  and  we  do  not  fancy 
him,"  added  the  captain. 

"  He  comes  to  Funchal  two  or  three  times  a  year,  and 


126  WILL/ AM  TAYLOR  ADAMS 

cruises  every  summer  in  the  Mediterranean,"  said  Don 
Joao.  "You  have  the  most  beautiful  young  lady  I  ever 
met  in  my  life  ;  and  I  advise  you  not  to  let  the  Pacha 
see  her." 

"  Unfortunately  he  has  already  seen  her  at  Mogadore, 
and  that  fact  was  the  reason  why  we  sailed  from  that 
port  very  abruptly,"  replied  Captain  Ringgold. 

Before  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  at  the  town,  the 
commander  had  informed  Mr.  Woolridge  of  the  coming 
of  Noury  Pacha,  and  pointed  out  the  steam-yacht  to 
him.  They  had  an  anxious  consultation  in  regard  to  the 
matter.  The  Guardian-Mother  came  up  to  her  former 
moorings,  and  soon  landed  her  gratified  passengers 
from  the  island,  who  were  profuse  in  their  acknowledg- 
ments of  the  pleasure  they  had  derived  from  the  excur- 
sion. 

Before  the  return  of  the  barge  from  her  trip  to  the 
shore  with  the  guests,  the  commander  had  ordered  the 
second  cutter  into  the  water,  and  the  chief  steward  was 
ordered  to  obtain  what  provisions  and  stores  he  needed 
at  once.  Mr,  Gaskette  was  in  charge  of  the  boat,  and 
Louis  and  Felix  were  permitted  to  go  with  him.  The 
Pacha's  yacht  had  anchored  quite  near  the  shore,  but 
at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  Guardian-Mother. 
Boats  were  already  plying  between  her  and  the  town, 
and  one  of  them  had  landed  near  the  market. 

Several  of  the  sailors  of  the  second  cutter  were  sent 
up  to  bring  off  the  purchases  of  Mr.  Sage,  and  Mr.  Gas- 
kette and  Louis  followed  them.  The  provisions  were 
purchased  and  sent  to  the  boat.  Several  of  the  Moorish 
tars  were  seen  in  the  vicinity,  and  they  looked  as  little 
like  sailors  as  possible. 

"  By  the  powers  of  mud  ! "  exclaimed  Felix,  suddenly, 
as  they  passed  a  couple  of  the  Morocco  sailors.  "One 
of  them  is  Scott,  as  sure  as  you  live !  " 

"Which  one  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Gaskette. 

"  The  one  on  the  right." 

The  second  officer  asked  no  more  questions,  but  seized 
the  runaway  by  the  collar  of  his  tunic.  Louis  under- 
stood what  he  intended  at  once,  and  thrust  his  arm 
through  that  of  the  young  reprobate,  as  the  officer  had 
done  with  the  other.     They  had  him  as  a  couple   of 


WILLIAM  TAYLOR  ADAMS  127 

French  policemen  would  handle  a  prisoner,  and  they 
marched  him  at  double  quick  to  the  boat.  The  com- 
panion of  Scott  attempted  to  interfere.  He  seized  Louis 
by  the  back  of  his  coat-collar,  when  Felix  planted  a  blow 
on  the  side  of  his  head  which  caused  him  to  stagger  and 
fall.  When  he  got  up  he  departed  in  the  other  direc- 
tion. 

Scott  was  tumbled  into  the  boat,  and  held  fast  by  his 
captors.  Mr,  Sage  had  come,  and  the  officer  hurried 
the  boat  off.  Scott  protested  with  all  his  might,  but  he 
might  as  well  have  kept  his  breath.  Louis  was  not  a 
little  surprised  to  see  that  the  Blanche  had  hauled  out 
from  her  moorings,  and  was  already  under  way.  She 
stood  out  of  the  port  at  once,  and  when  the  stores  and 
the  prisoner  had  been  taken  on  board,  the  Guardian- 
Mother  followed  her.  But  Don  Joao  was  at  the  head  of 
the  customs  department,  and  everything  had  been  ar- 
ranged with  him. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  you  look  as  though  you  had  joined  a 
circus  company,"  said  Captain  Ringgold,  when  he  had 
time  to  speak  to  the  runaway. 

"You  will  pay  dearly  for  this,"  howled  Scott,  crying 
like  a  baby  in  his  anger,  "  The  Pacha  is  the  biggest 
man  in  Morocco  except  the  Sultan,  and  he  is  my  friend." 

"  Knott,  take  him  below,  and  see  that  he  is  dressed 
like  a  Christian,"  said  the  captain. 

The  old  salt  obeyed  the  order  with  a  relish, — Strange 
Sights  Abroad. 


^^^B 

ADDISON,  Joseph,  an  English  poet,  essayist, 
and  statesman,  born  at  Milston,  Wiltshire,  May  i, 
1672;  died  at  Holland  House,  Kensington,  June 
17,  17 19.  He  was  the  son  of  Rev.  Lancelot  Addi- 
son, Dean  of  Lichfield,  who  was  an  author  of 
some  distinction  in  his  day.  He  was  educated  at 
Charter  House  School,  London,  and  at  Queen's 
and  Magdalen  Colleges,  Oxford,  where  he  distin- 
guished himself  by  his  Latin  verses.  While  quite 
a  young  man  he  secured  the  favor  of  Dryden  and 
other  men  of  letters,  and  likewise  of  Lords  Hali- 
fax and  Somers,  through  whose  influence  he  re- 
ceived a  pension  of  ^^^300  to  enable  him  to  travel, 
and  especially  to  perfect  himself  in  the  French 
language,  in  order  to  be  prepared  for  official  em- 
ployment. His  continental  travels  lasted  from 
1699  to  the  close  of  1703,  when  he  returned  to 
England.  King  William  HL  had  died  in  the 
meantime;  Addison's  patrons  had  gone  out  of 
power ;  his  pension  was  stopped,  and  for  some 
time  he  was  hard  pressed  by  pecuniary  difficul- 
ties ;  but  he  was  known  to  the  leaders  of  both 
parties  as  a  man  of  genius.  The  great  waj  of  the 
Spanish  Succession  had  brought  the  Whigs  and 
Tories  of  England  into  some  sort  of  harmonv. 
On  August  13,  1704,  Vvac  fought  the  great  bat- 
tle  of  Blenheim,  and  the  Ministry  looked  about 

for  some  man  who  could  properly  celebrate  the 

("8)   . 


JOSEPH    ADDISON. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  lag 

victory  in  verse.  They  sent  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  to  the  garret  occupied  by  Addi- 
son, to  engage  his  services,  offering  him  a  gov- 
ernment commissionership  worth  ^200  a  year  as 
an  earnest  of  still  greater  favors. 

The  result  of  this  interview  was  The  Campaign^ 
a  poem  of  some  five  hundred  lines,  inscribed  to 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  whom  it  celebrates. 
The  poem  became  famous,  and  laid  the  foundation 
for  the  fortunes  of  the  poet.  Apart  from  its  merits 
as  a  poem  for  the  time.  The  Campaign  ranks  high 
among  the  works  of  its  class.  Its  special  merit  is 
that  it  discards  wholly  all  the  old  fashion  of 
ascribing  a  great  victory  to  the  personal  prowess 
of  its  hero  as  a  man-at-arms.  Addison  was  per- 
haps the  first  man  to  recognize  in  verse  that  a  bat- 
tle is  won  by  brains,  not  by  brawn.  He  reserved 
his  praise  for  those  qualities  which  made  Marl- 
borough one  of  the  greatest  commanders  of  any 
age — energy,  sagacity  in  planning,  and  firmness 
of  mind  amid  the  confusion,  uproar,  and  slaughter 
of  the  battle-field.  The  conclusion  of  the  poem, 
which  might  stand  for  its  "  argument,"  reads: 

THE   DUKE   OF   MARLBOROUGH. 

Thus  would  I  fain  Britannia's  wars  rehearse, 
In  the  smooth  records  of  a  faithful  verse  ; 
That,  if  such  numbers  can  o'er  Time  prevail, 
May  tell  posterity  the  wondrous  tale. 
When  Actions  unadorned  are  faint  and  weak, 
Cities  and  Countries  must  be  taught  to  speak  ; 
And  Rivers  from  their  oozy  beds  arise  ; 
Gods  may  descend  in  factions  from  the  skies, 
Fiction  may  deck  the  truth  with  spurious  rays, 
And  round  the  Hero  cast  a  borrowed  blaze. 
Vol.  I.— 9 


I30  JOSEPH  ADDISON" 

Marlbro's  exploits  appear  divinely  bright, 
And  proudly  shine  in  their  own  native  light ; 
Raised  of  themselves  their  genuine  charms  they  boast, 
And  those  who  paint  them  truest  praise  them  most. 

—  The  Campaign. 

The  most  famous  passage  in  the  poem  is  the 
twenty  lines  which  form  the  prelude  to  the  Battle 
of  Blenheim,  crowned  as  it  is  by  the  three  con- 
cluding couplets  which  compare  Marlborough 
to  an  angel  guiding  the  whirlwind.  "The  extra- 
ordinary effect  which  this  simile  produced,"  says 
Macaula)^,  "when  it  first  appeared,  and  which  to 
the  following  generation  seemed  inexplicable,  is 
doubtless  to  be  chiefly  attributed  to  a  line  which 
most  readers  now  regard  as  a  feeble  parenthesis : 
'  Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past'  Addi- 
son spoke  not  of  a  storm,  but  of  tJie  storm.  The 
great  tempest  of  November,  1703,  the  only  tem- 
pest which  in  our  latitude  has  equalled  the  rage  of 
a  tropical  hurricane,  had  left  a  dreadful  recollec- 
tion in  the  minds  of  all  men.  No  other  tempest 
was  ever  in  this  country  the  occasion  of  a  parlia- 
mentary address  or  of  a  public  fast.  London  and 
Bristol  had  presented  the  appearance  of  cities 
just  sacked,  and  the  prostrate  trunks  of  large 
trees,  and  the  ruins  of  houses  still  attested,  in  all 
the  southern  counties,  the  fury  of  the  blast." 

MARLBOROUGH   AT    BLENHEIM. 

But  O  my  Muse,  what  numbers  wilt  thou  find 
To  sing  the  furious  troops  in  battle  joined  ! 
Methinks  I  hear  the  drum's  tumultuous  sound. 
The  victor's  shouts  and  dying  groans  confound, 
The  dreadful  burst  of  cannon  rend  the  skies. 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  battle  rise. — 


JOSEPH  ADDISON'  13I 

'Twas  then  great  Marlbro's  mighty  soul  was  proved. 
That  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved, 
Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 
Examined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war  ; 
In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 
To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid, 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  dreadful  battle  where  to  rage.— 
So  when  an  Angel  by  Divine  command 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land- 
Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past — 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast ; 
And  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm. 

— The  Campaign. 

Addison's  commissionership — apparently  a  si- 
necure— placed  him  in  comfortable  circumstances, 
and  he  amused  himself  in  literary  productions. 
He  published  the  narrative  of  his  Travels  in 
Italy — a  country  vi^hich  he  looked  upon  only 
through  classical  eyes  ;  the  lively  opera  of  Rosa- 
mond, which  failed  upon  the  stage,  owing  to  the 
bad  music  which  was  set  to  it;  The  Drummer,  a 
comedy  ;  the  tragedy  of  Cato,  and  a  large  number 
of  pamphlets  and  poems,  none  of  which,  except- 
ing two  or  three  Hymns,  are  of  special  account 
except  as  the  productions  of  one  who  had  gained 
a  name  in  other  departments  of  literature.  But 
while  he  was  thus  amusing  rather  than  occupy- 
ing himself  with  literature,  his  political  pros- 
pects were  growing  brighter  and  brighter.  •  The 
Whigs  came  into  power,  and  the  leaders  of  the 
party  looked  out  for  Addison,  whom  everybody 
liked.  He  was  made  Under  Secretary  of  State, 
Chief   Secretary    for     Ireland,   and   finally   Sec- 


132  JOSEPH  AuDISON 

retary  of  State.  He  was  also  returned  to 
Parliament  in  1708,  and  held  a  seat  there,  for 
one  constituency  or  another,  until  his  death, 
eleven  years  later.  But  he  made  no  figure  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  never  attempting  but 
once  to  make  a  speech.  Indeed  we  find  no  evi- 
dence in  him  of  any  great  capacity  for  political 
affairs.  And  yet,  says  Macaulay,  "  Addison,  with- 
out high  birth,  and  with  little  property,  rose  to  a 
post  which  dukes,  the  heads  of  the  great  houses 
of  Talbot,  Russell,  and  Bentinck,  have  thought  it 
an  honor  to  fill.  Without  opening  his  lips  in  de- 
bate, he  rose  to  a  post,  the  highest  that  Chatham 
or  Fox  ever  reached  ;  and  this  he  did  before  he 
had  been  nine  years  in  Parliament." 

In  1716,  at  the  age  of  forty -four,  and  three  years 
before  his  death,  he  married  the  dowager  Count- 
ess of  Warwick,  to  whose  graceless  son,  Lord 
Warwick,  he  had  been  a  kind  of  mentor.  This 
marriage  was  far  enough  from  a  happy  one  ;  and 
during  its  brief  continuance  Addison  was  never 
so  happy  as  when  he  could  escape  from  the  mag- 
nificent drawing-room  of  his  titled  and  imperious 
wife,  and  have  a  chat  and  a  bottle  of  wine  at  a 
London  tavern  with  some  of  his  old  friends  and 
cronies.  He  died  in  perfect  peace.  Among  his 
last  words  were  those  to  his  unworthy  son-in-law : 
"  See  how  a  Christian  can  die."  His  public  fu- 
neral was  a  magnificent  one.  His  remains  were 
laid  at  rest  in  the  vaults  of  the  magnificent  Chapel 
of  Henry  VII.  in  Westminster  Abbey.  He  was 
as  good  as  forgotten  almost  as  soon  as  he  was 
dead.     Neither  his  rich  and  titled  widow  nor  any 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  I33 

one  of  his  contemporary  friends  ever  thought  of 
commemorating  him  by  even  a  simple  tablet  on 
the  walls  of  the  Abbey.  Three  generations 
passed  before  the  omission  was  supplied,  almost 
in  our  own  day,  by  his  bust  erected  in  the  "  Poets' 
Corner." 

As  a  poet  or  dramatist  Addison  cannot  be 
placed  high  even  in  the  third  rank  of  British 
authors.  His  tragedy  of  Cato  contains  some  pas- 
sages of  fine  declamation,  the  best  of  which  is 
Cato's  soliloquy  on  immortality  ;  and  of  the  whole 
work  Aikin  says :  "  It  is  equally  remarkable  for  a 
correctness  of  plan  and  a  sustained  elevation  of 
style  ; "  and  that  it  is  further  distinguished  by  the 
"  glow  of  its  sentiments  in  favor  of  political  liberty." 
The  Letter  from  Italy,  addressed  to  Lord  Halifax, 
has  some  noble  passages ;  and  one  or  two  of  his 
Hymns  and  religious  Odes  stand  among  the  classics 
of  our  language.  The  most  notable  passage  in  his 
versified  Account  of  the  Greatest  English  Poets  is 
that  upon  the  author  of  the  Faery  Queen  : 

UPON    EDMUND   SPENSER. 

Old  Spenser  next,  warmed  with  poetic  rage, 

In  ancient  tales  amused  a  barbarous  age  ; 

An  age,  that  yet,  uncultivate  and  rude, 

Where'er  the  poet's  fancy  led,  pursued 

Through  pathless  fields,  and  unfrequented  floods, 

To  dens  of  dragons  and  enchanted  woods. 

But  now  the  mystic  tale,  that  pleased  of  yore, 

Can  claim  an  understanding  age  no  more  ; 

The  long-spun  allegories  fulsome  grow. 

While  the  dull  moral  lies  too  plain  below. 

We  view  well  pleased,  at  distance,  all  the  sights — 


134  JOSEPH  ADDISON' 

Of  arms  and  palfreys,  battles,  fields,  and  fights, 
Of  damsels  in  distress,  and  courteous  knights. 
But  when  we  look  too  near,  the  shades  decay. 
And  all  the  pleasing  landscape  fades  away. 

— Account  of  the  Greatest  British  Poets. 

ON    ITALY. 

Now  has  kind  Heaven  adorned  this  happy  land. 
And  scattered  blessings  with  a  wasteful  hand  ! 
But  what  avails  her  unexhausted  stores, 
Her  blooming  mountains  and  her  sunny  shores. 
Where  all  the  gifts  that  heaven  and  earth  impart. 
The  smiles  of  Nature  and  the  charms  of  Art, 
While  proud  Oppression  in  her  valleys  reigns, 
And  Tyranny  usurps  her  happy  plains  1 
The  poor  inhabitant  beholds  in  vain 
The  reddening  orange  and  the  swelling  grain  ; 
Joyless  he  sees  the  growing  oils  and  wines, 
And  in  the  myrtle's  fragrant  shade  repines  ; 
Starves  in  the  midst  of  Nature's  bounty  curst, 
And  in  the  loaded  vineyard  dies  for  thirst. 

— Letter  from  Italy. 

ODE    ON    THE    CREATOR. 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high. 

And  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim. 

The  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day, 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display. 

And  publishes  in  every  land 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And,  nightly  to  the  listening  earth, 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  ; 
While  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn. 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn. 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll. 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 


JOSEPH  ADDr^^ON'  135 

What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  no  real  voice,  nor  sound, 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? — 
In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice  ; 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine  : 
"  The  Hand  that  made  us  is  Divine." 


THE    DIVINE    CARE. 
I, 

Now  are  Thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord  I 

Now  sure  is  their  defence  ! 
Eternal  Wisdom  is  their  guide, 

Their  help  Omnipotence. 

II. 

In  foreign  realms  and  lands  remote, 

Supported  by  Thy  care, 
Through  burning  climes  I  passed  unhurt. 

And  breathed  the  tainted  air. 


IV. 

Think,  O  my  soul,  devoutly  think, 

How,  with  affrighted  eyes. 
Thou  sawest  the  wide-extended  deep 

In  all  its  horrors  rise. 

VI. 

Yet  then  from  all  my  griefs,  O  Lord,   '^ 

Thy  mercy  set  me  free  ; 
Whilst  in  the  confidence  of  prayer 

My  soul  took  hold  on  Thee. 

VII. 

For  though  in  dreadful  whirls  we  hung 

High  on  the  broken  wave, 
I  knew  Thou  wert  not  slow  to  hear, 

Nor  impotent  to  save. 


136  JOSEPH  ADDISON- 

VIII. 
The  storm  was  laid,  the  winds  retired, 

Obedient  to  Thy  will  ; 
The  sea  that  roared  at  Thy  command, 

At  Thy  command  was  still. 

IX. 

In  midst  of  dangers,  fears,  and  death, 

Thy  goodness  I'll  adore  ; 
I'll  praise  Thee  for  thy  mercies  past, 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 

X. 

My  life,  if  Thou  preserve  my  life. 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be  ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom. 

Shall  join  my  soul  to  Thee. 

But  Addison  owes  his  great  place  in  English 
literature  mainly  to  his  essays,  and  especially  to 
those  embodied  in  The  Spectator^  a  weekly  period- 
ical, the  first  number  of  which  appeared  March 
I,  171 1,  and  the  last  of  the  first  series  (No.  555), 
December  6,  1712.  Addison,  however,  had  pre- 
viously commenced  writing  essays,  especially  in 
The  T^ij/Z/^r,  established  in  1709  by  his  friend  Rich- 
ard Steele,  to  which  he  contributed  about  sixty 
short  essays,  all  of  which  appeared  subsequently 
in  his  "  Works."  Among  these  Tattler  essays  are 
some  of  more  than  mere  temporary  value,  showing 
the  power  of  keen  observation,  felicitous  descrip- 
tion, and  trenchant  satire,  which  were  soon  to  be 
more  fully  manifested  in  The  Spectator, 

LITERARY   VERMIN. 

The  whole  creation  preys  upon  itself ;  every  living 
creature  is  inhabited.     A  flea  has  a  thousand  invisible 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  137 

insects  that  tease  him  as  he  jumps  from  place  to  place, 
and  revenge  our  quarrels  upon  him.  A  very  ordinary 
microscope  shows  us  that  a  louse  itself  is  a  very  lousy 
creature.  A  whale,  besides  those  seas  and  oceans  in 
the  several  vessels  of  his  body,  which  are  filled  with 
innumerable  shoals  of  little  animals,  carries  about  with 
it  a  whole  world  of  inhabitants ;  insomuch  that,  if  we 
believe  the  calculations  some  have  made,  there  are 
more  living  creatures,  which  are  too  small  for  the 
naked  eye  to  behold,  about  the  leviathan  than  there  are 
visible  creatures  upon  the  face  of  the  whole  earth. 
Thus  every  nobler  creature  is,  as  it  were,  the  basis  and 
support  of  multitudes  that  are  his  inferiors. 

This  consideration  very  much  comforts  me,  when  I 
think  on  those  numberless  vermin  that  feed  upon  this 
paper,  and  find  their  sustenance  out  of  it :  I  mean  the 
small  wits  and  scribblers  that  every  day  turn  a  penny 
by  nibbling  at  my  lucubrations.  This  has  been  so 
advantageous  to  this  little  species  of  writers,  that,  if 
they  do  me  justice,  I  may  expect  to  have  my  statue 
erected  in  Grub  Street,  as  being  a  common  benefactor 
to  that  quarter. 

They  say  when  a  fox  is  very  much  troubled  with 
fleas  he  goeth  into  the  next  pool,  with  a  little  lock  of 
wool  in  his  mouth,  and  keeps  his  body  under  water  till 
the  vermin  get  into  it ;  after  which  he  quits  the  wool, 
and  diving,  leaves  his  tormentors  to  shift  for  themselves 
and  get  their  living  where  they  can.  I  would  have 
these  gentlemen  take  care  that  I  do  not  serve  them 
after  the  same  manner  ;  for  though  I  have  kept  my  tem- 
per pretty  well,  it  is  not  impossible  that  I  may  some  time 
or  other  disappear,  and  what  will  then  become  of  them  ? 
Should  I  lay  down  my  paper,  what  a  famine  would 
there  be  among  the  hawkers,  printers,  booksellers,  and 

authors  !     It  would   be  like   Dr.  B 's  dropping  his 

cloak,  with  the  whole  congregation  hanging  upon  the 
skirts  of  it. 

To  enumerate  some  of  these  doughty  antagonists  :  I 
was  threatened  to  be  answered  weekly  by  the  Tit  for 
Tat ;  I  was  undermined  by  the  Whisperer,  haunted  by 
Tom  Brown  s  Ghost,  scolded  at  by  a  Female  Tattler,  and 
slandered  by  another  of  the  same  character,  under  the 


138  JOSEPH  ADDISON 

title  of  Atalantis.  I  have  been  aiitwiafed,  re-tattled, 
examined,  and  condoled.  But  it  being  my  maxim,  "  Never 
to  speak  ill  of  the  dead,"  I  shall  let  these  authors  rest 
in  peace  ;  and  take  great  pleasure  in  thinking  that  I 
have  sometimes  been  the  means  of  their  getting  a  belly- 
full.  When  I  see  myself  thus  surrounded  by  such  for- 
midable enemies,  I  often  think  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Red  Cross,  in  Spenser's  Den  of  Error,  who,  after  he 
has  cut  off  the  dragon's  head,  and  left  it  wallowing  in  a 
flood  of  ink,  sees  a  thousand  monstrous  reptiles  making 
their  monstrous  attempts  upon  him — one  with  many 
heads,  another  with  none,  and  all  of  them  without 
leyes. 

If  ever  I  should  want  such  a  fry  of  little  Authors  to 
attend  me,  I  shall  think  my  paper  in  a  very  decaying 
condition.  They  are  like  ivy  about  an  oak,  which 
adorns  the  tree  at  the  same  time  that  it  eats  into  it ; 
or  like  a  great  man's  equipage,  that  do  honor  to  the 
person  on  whom  they  feed.  For  my  part,  when  I  see 
myself  thus  attacked,  I  do  not  consider  my  antagonists 
as  malicious  but  hungry  ;  and  therefore  am  resolved 
never  to  take  any  notice  of  them. 

As  to  those  who  detract  from  my  labors  without 
being  prompted  to  it  by  an  empty  stomach — in  return 
for  their  censures,  I  shall  take  pains  to  excel,  and 
never  fail  to  persuade  myself  that  their  malice  is  noth- 
ing but  their  envy  or  ignorance.  Give  me  leave 
to  conclude,  like  an  Old  Man  and  a  Moralist,  with  a 
Fable. 

The  Owls,  Bats,  and  several  other  Birds  of  Night, 
were  one  day  together  in  a  thick  shade,  where  they 
abused  their  neighbors  in  a  very  sociable  manner.  This 
Satyr  at  last  fell  upon  the  Sun,  whom  they  all  agreed 
to  be  very  troublesome,  impertinent,  and  inquisitive. 
Upon  which  the  Sun,  who  overheard  them,  spoke  to 
them  after  this  manner  :  "  Gentlemen,  I  wonder  how 
you  dare  abuse  one  that  you  know  could  in  an  in- 
stant scorch  you  up,  and  burn  every  mother's  son 
of  you.  But  the  only  answer  I  shall  give  you,  or  the 
revenge  I  shall  take  of  you,  is  to  shine  on." — The 
Tattler,  No.  22C>,  September  26,  lyio. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  £39 


HINTS   FOR   CHARLATANS. 

The  very  foundation  of  Poetry  is  Good  Sense,  if  we 
may  allow  Horace  to  be  a  judge  of  the  art:  '■^  Scribendi 
recte  sapere  est  et  prlncipiiim  et  fons.''  And  if  so,  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  the  same  man  who  writes 
well  can  prescribe  well,  if  he  has  applied  himself  to  the 
study  of  both.  Besides,  when  we  see  a  man  making 
professions  of  two  different  sciences,  it  is  natural  for 
us  to  believe  that  he  is  no  pretender  in  that  which  we 
are  no  judges  of,  when  we  find  him  skilful  in  that  which 
we  understand.  Ordinary  Quacks  and  Charlatans  are 
thoroughly  sensible  how  necessary  it  is  to  support  them- 
selves by  these  collateral  assistances  ;  and  therefore 
always  lay  their  claim  to  some  supernumerary  accom- 
plishments which  are  wholly  foreign  to  their  profession. 

About  twenty  years  ago  it  was  impossible  to  walk 
the  streets  without  having  an  advertisement  thrust  into 
your  hand  of  a  Doctor  "  7uho  7vas  arrived  at  the  Knowl- 
edge of  the  Green  and  Red  Dragon^  and  had  discovered 
the  Female  Fern  Seed."  Nobody  ever  knew  what  this 
meant ;  but  the  Red  and  Green  Dragon  so  amused  the 
people,  that  the  Doctor  lived  very  comfortably  upon 
them.  About  the  same  time  there  was  pasted  a  very 
hard  word  upon  every  corner  of  the  streets.  This,  to 
the  best  of  my  recollection,  was  "Tetrachymagogon," 
which  drew  great  shoals  of  spectators  about  it,  who 
read  the  Bill  that  it  introduced  with  unspeakable  curi- 
osity, and  when  they  were  sick  would  have  nobody  but 
this  Learned  Man  for  their  physician. 

I  once  received  an  advertisement  of  one  "7^'//^  had 
studied  Thirty  Years  by  Candle-light  for  the  Good  of  his 
Countrymen"  He  might  have  studied  twice  as  long  by 
daylight,  and  never  have  been  taken  notice  of.  But 
Elucubrations  cannot  be  overvalued.  There  are  some 
who  have  gained  themselves  great  reputation  for  physic 
by  their  birth,  as  *'//;^  Seventh  Son  of  a  Seventh  Son"  ^.wA 
others  by  not  being  born  at  all,  as  "  the  Unborn  Doctor" 
who,  I  hear,  is  lately  gone  out  of  the  way  of  his  patients, 
having  died  worth  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum, 
though  he  was  not  born  to  a  halfpenny. 


I40  JOSEPH  ADDISON 

My  ingenious  friend,  Doctor  Saffold,  succeeded  my 
old  contemporary,  Doctor  Lilly,  in  the  studies  both  ol 
Physic  and  Astrology,  to  which  he  added  that  of  Poetry, 
as  was  to  be  seen  both  upon  the  sign  where  he  lived, 
and  in  the  Bills  which  he  distributed.  He  was  succeeded 
by  Doctor  Case,  who  erased  the  verses  of  his  predeces- 
sor out  of  the  sign-post,  and  substituted  two  of  his  own, 
which  were  as  follows  ; 

Within  this  Place 
Lives  Doctor  Case. 

He  is  said  to  have  got  more  by  this  distich  than  Mr. 
Dryden  did  by  all  his  Works. 

There  would  be  no  end  of  enumerating  the  several  im- 
aginary perfections  and  unaccountable  ways  by  which 
this  tribe  of  men  ensnare  the  minds  of  the  vulgar,  and  gain 
crowds  of  admirers.  I  have  seen  the  whole  front  of  a 
mountebank's  stage,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  faced 
with  Patents,  Certificates,  Medals,  and  Great  Seals,  by 
which  the  several  Princes  of  Europe  have  testified  their 
particular  respect  and  esteem  for  the  Doctor.  Every 
great  man  with  a  sounding  title  has  been  his  patient.  I 
believe  I  have  seen  twenty  mountebanks  who  have  given 
physic  to  the  Czar  of  Muscovy.  The  great  Duke  of 
Tuscany  escapes  no  better.  The  Elector  of  Brandenburg 
was  likewise  a  very  good  patient.  This  great  conde- 
scension of  the  Doctor  draws  upon  him  much  good-will 
from  his  audience,  and  it  is  ten  to  one,  but  if  any  of  them 
be  troubled  with  an  aching  tooth,  his  ambition  will 
prompt  him  to  get  it  drawn  by  a  person  who  has  had  so 
many  Princes,  Kings,  and  Emperors  under  his  hands. 

I  must  not  leave  this  subject  without  observing  that, 
as  Physicians  are  apt  to  deal  in  Poetry,  Apothecaries 
endeavor  to  recommend  themselves  by  Oratory,  and  are 
therefore  without  controversy  the  most  eloquent  per- 
sons in  the  whole  British  Nation.  I  would  not  willingly 
discourage  any  of  the  Arts — especially  that  of  which  I 
am  an  humble  Professor  ;  but  I  must  confess,  for  the 
good  of  my  native  Country,  I  could  wish  there  might 
be  a  suspension  of  Physic  for  some  years,  that  our  King- 
dom, which  has  been  so  much  exhausted  by  wars, 
might  have  leave  to  recruit  itself.     As  for  myself,  the 


JOSEFH  ADDISON  141 

only  physic  which  has  brought  me  safe  to  almost  the 
age  of  man,  and  which  I  prescribe  to  all  my  friends, 
is  Abstinence.  This  is  certainly  the  best  physic  for 
prevention,  and  very  often  the  most  effectual  against 
the  present  distemper.  In  short,  my  recipe  is :  Take 
Nothing. 

Were  the  Body  Politic  to  be  physicked  like  partic- 
ular persons,  I  should  venture  to  prescribe  for  it  in  the 
same  manner.  I  remember  when  our  whole  island 
was  shaken  by  an  earthquake  some  years  ago,  there  was 
an  impudent  mountebank  who  sold  Pills  which  (as  he  told 
the  country  people)  were  "  very  good  against  an  earth- 
quake." It  may  perhaps  be  thought  as  absurd  to  pre- 
scribe a  diet  for  the  allaying  popular  commotions  and 
national  ferments.  But  I  am  verily  persuaded  that  if 
in  such  a  case  a  whole  people  were  to  enter  into  a 
course  of  Abstinence,  and  eat  nothing  but  water-gruel 
for  a  fortnight,  it  would  abate  the  rage  and  animosity 
of  parties,  and  not  a  little  contribute  to  the  cure  of  a 
distracted  nation.  Such  a  fast  would  have  a  natural 
tendency  to  the  procuring  of  those  ends  for  which  a 
fast  is  usually  proclaimed.  If  any  man  has  a  mind  to 
enter  on  such  a  voluntary  abstinence,  it  might  not  be 
improper  to  give  him  the  caution  of  Pythagoras  in  par- 
ticular:  Abstinea  Fabis — "Abstain  from  Beans."  That 
is,  say  the  interpreters,  "  Meddle  not  with  Elections  " 
— Beans  having  been  made  use  of  by  the  voters  among 
the  Athenians  in  the  choice  of  magistrates. — The  Tattler^ 
No.  240,  October  21  ^  1710. 


Most  of  Addison's  contributions  to  Tke  Tattler 
are  humorous  in  their  form,  aiming  to  satirize  the 
follies  of  the  time.  His  last  paper,  which  appeared 
in  one  of  the  latest  issues  of  The  Tattler,  is  of  a 
wholly  serious  character,  being  introductory  to 
the  timely  reprinting  of  the  famous  "  Prayer  or 
Song  of  Praise  made  by  My  Lord  Bacon,  Chan- 
cellor of  England." 


142  JOSEPH  ADDISON' 


SPECIAL   PERIODS   OF   DEVOTION. 

I  have  heard  that  it  is  a  rule  among  the  conventuals 
of  several  Orders  in  the  Romish  Church  to  shut  them- 
selves up  at  a  certain  time  of  the  year,  not  only  from 
the  world  in  general,  but  from  the  members  of  their 
own  fraternity,  and  to  pass  away  several  days  by  them- 
selves in  settling  accounts  between  their  Maker  and 
their  own  souls,  in  cancelling  unrepented  crimes,  and 
renewing  their  contracts  of  obedience  for  the  future. 
Such  stated  times  for  particular  Acts  of  Devotion,  or 
the  exercise  of  certain  religious  duties,  have  been  en- 
joined in  all  civil  governments,  whatever  Deity  they 
worshipped,  or  whatever  Religion  they  professed. 

That  which  may  be  done  at  all  times  is  often  totally 
neglected  or  forgotten,  unless  fixed  and  determined  to 
some  time  more  than  another ;  and  therefore,  though 
several  duties  may  he  suitable  to  everyday  of  our  lives, 
they  are  more  likely  to  be  performed  if  some  daj^s  are 
more  particularly  set  apart  for  the  practice  of  them. 
Our  Church  has  accordingly  instituted  several  Seasons 
of  Devotion,  when  time,  custom,  prescription,  and  (if  I 
may  so  say)  the  Fashion  itself,  call  upon  a  man  to  be 
attentive  to  the  great  end  of  his  bemg. 

I  have  hinted,  in  some  former  papers,  that  the  great- 
est and  wisest  of  men  in  all  ages  and  countries — partic- 
ularly in  Rome  and  Greece — were  renowned  for  their 
piety  and  virtue.  It  is  now  my  intention  to  show  how 
those  in  our  own  nation  that  have  been  unquestionably 
the  most  eminent  for  learning  and  knowledge  were 
likewise  the  most  eminent  for  their  adherence  to  the 
religion  of  their  country.  I  might  produce  very  shining 
examples  from  among  the  clergy  ;  but  because  Priest- 
craft is  the  common  cry  of  every  cavilling  empty  scrib- 
bler, I  shall  show  that  all  the  laymen  who  have  exerted 
a  more  than  ordinary  genius  in  their  writings,  and  were 
jj.e  glory  of  their  times,  were  men  whose  hopes  were 
filled  with  Immortality  and  the  prospect  of  future  re- 
wards ;  and  men  who  lived  in  dutiful  submission  to  all 
the  doctrines  of  Revealed  Religion. 

I  shall  in  this  paper  only  instance  Sir  Francis  Bacon, 


JOSEPH  ADDISON'  143 

a  man  who  for  the  greatness  of  genius,  and  the  com- 
pass of  knowledge,  did  honor  to  his  age  and  country  ;  I 
could  almost  say  to  human  nature  itself.  He  possessed 
at  once  all  those  extraordinary  talents  which  were 
divided  amongst  the  greatest  authors  of  antiquity.  He 
had  the  sound,  distinct,  comprehensive  knowledge  of 
Aristotle,  with  all  the  beautiful  lights,  graces,  and  em- 
bellishments of  Cicero.  One  does  not  know  which  to 
admire  most  in  his  writings,  the  strength  of  Reason, 
force  of  Style,  or  brightness  of  Imagination.     .     .     . 

I  was  infinitely  pleased  to  find  among  the  works  of 
this  extraordinary  man  a  Prayer  of  his  own  composing 
which,  for  the  elevation  of  thought  and  greatness  of  ex- 
pression, seems  rather  the  devotion  of  an  angel  than  of 
a  man.  His  principal  fault  seems  to  have  been  the  ex- 
cess of  that  virtue  which  covers  a  multitude  of  faults. 
This  betrayed  him  to  so  great  an  indulgence  toward  his 
servants,  who  made  a  corrupt  use  of  it,  which  stripped 
him  of  all  those  riches  and  honors  which  a  long  series  of 
merits  had  heaped  upon  him.  But  in  this  Prayer,  at  the 
time  we  find  him  prostrating  himself  before  the  mercy- 
seat,  and  humbled  under  the  afflictions  which  at  that 
time  lay  heavy  upon  him,  we  see  him  supported  by  the 
sense  of  his  integrity,  his  zeal,  and  his  devotion,  and  his 
love  to  mankind  ;  which  gave  him  a  much  higher  figure 
in  the  minds  of  thinking  men  than  the  greatness  had 
do  le  from  which  he  had  fallen.  I  shall  beg  leave  tc 
write  down  the  Prayer  itself,  with  the  title  to  it,  as  it 
was  found  among  his  Lordship's  papers,  written  in  hig 
own  hand  ;  not  being  able  to  furnish  my  reader  with  an 
entertainment  more  suitable  to  this  solemn  time.  [Here 
follows  Bacon's  "  Prayer  or  Psalm."] — The  Tattler ^  Nc, 
26j^  December  2j^  lyio. 

But  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  Essays,  upon 
which  Addison's  fame  rests,  were  contributed  to 
The  Spectator.  This  periodical  was  planned  by  Ad. 
dison  in  conjunction  with  Richard  Steele,  and  wa? 
to  consist  of  papers  supposed  to  be  written  by  a 
club  who  had  united  for  that  purpose.     The  first 


144  JOSE  J* If  ADDISON" 

number  appeared  on  Thursday,  March  i,  171 1, 
and  was  continued  daily  —  Sundays  excepted — 
until  the  close  of  1712  ;  the  last  paper  but  one  fur- 
nished by  Addison  (No.  540,  November  29th)  con- 
tained an  announcement  by  the  imaginary  "  Spec- 
tator" that  "  The  Club,  of  which  I  am  a  member, 
being  entirely  dispersed,  I  shall  consult  my  readers 
next  week,  upon  a  project  relating  to  the  institu- 
tion of  a  new  one."  The  first  number  of  the  new 
Spectator  appeared  in  June,  17 14,  and  was  issued 
three  times  a  week  for  about  three  months.  Some- 
thing more  than  half  the  papers  were  furnished 
by  Addison.  But  the  new  Spectator  failed  to 
supply  the  place  of  the  old  one.  There  is  no  one 
essay  in  it  which  has  fixed  itself  in  the  public  mind. 
In  fact  it  must  be  pronounced  dull.  The  best  of 
these  papers  is  the  following,  which  has  in  it 
much  of  the  old  vein: 

THE   DISTRIBUTION   OF    HUMAN   CALAMITIES. 

It  is  a  celebrated  thought  of  Socrates,  that  if  all  the 
misfortunes  of  mankind  were  cast  into  a  public  stock,  in 
order  to  be  equally  distributed  among  the  whole  spe- 
cies, those  who  now  think  themselves  the  most  unhappy 
would  prefer  the  share  ti:ey  are  already  possessed  of, 
before  that  which  would  fall  to  them  by  such  a  division. 
Horace  has  carried  this  thought  a  great  deal  further, 
and  implies  that  the  hardships  or  misfortunes  we  lie 
under  are  more  easy  to  us  than  those  of  any  other  per- 
son would  be,  in  case  we  could  change  conditions  with 
him. 

I  was  ruminating  upon  these  two  remarks,  and  seated 
in  my  elbow  chair,  I  insensibly  fell  asleep  ;  when,  on  a 
sudden,  methought  there  was  a  proclamation  made  by 
Jupiter  that  every  mortal  should  bring  in  his  griefs  and 
calamities,  and  throw  them  together  in  a  heap.  There 
was  a  large  plain  appointed  for  the  purpose.     I  took  my 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  145 

stand  in  the  centre  of  it,  and  saw  with  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  the  whole  human  species  marching  up  one  after 
another,  and  throwing  down  their  several  loads,  which 
immediately  grew  up  into  a  prodigious  mountain  that 
seemed  to  rise  above  the  clouds.  There  was  a  certain 
lady  of  a  thin,  airy  shape,  who  was  very  active  in  this 
solemnity.  She  carried  a  magnifying-glass  in  one  of  her 
hands.  There  was  something  wild  and  distracted  in  her 
looks.  Her  name  was  Fancy.  She  led  up  every  mortal 
to  the  appointed  place,  after  having  very  officiously 
aided  him  in  making  up  his  pack,  and  laying  it  upon  his 
shoulders.  My  heart  melted  within  me  to  see  my  fel- 
low-creatures groaning  under  their  respective  burdens, 
and  to  consider  that  prodigious  bulk  of  human  calami- 
ties which  lay  before  me. 

There  were,  however,  several  persons  who  gave  me 
great  diversion  upon  this  occasion.  I  observed  one 
bring  in  a  fardel  very  carefully  concealed  under  an  old 
embroidered  cloak,  which,  upon  his  throwing  it  into  a 
heap,  I  discovered  to  be  Poverty.  Another,  after  a  great 
deal  of  puffing,  threw  down  his  luggage,  which,  upon 
examining,  I  found  to  be  his  wife.  There  were  multi- 
tudes of  lovers,  saddled  with  very  whimsical  burdens, 
composed  of  darts  and  flames  ;  but  what  was  very  odd, 
though  they  sighed  as  if  their  hearts  would  break  under 
these  bundles  of  calamities,  they  could  not  persuade 
themselves  to  cast  them  into  the  heap,  when  they  came 
up  to  it  ;  but  after  a  few  faint  efforts  shook  their  heads, 
and  marched  away  as  heavy  loaden  as  they  came. 

I  saw  multitudes  of  old  women  throw  down  their 
wrinkles  ;  and  several  young  ones  who  stripped  them- 
selves of  a  tawny  skin.  There  were  very  great  heaps 
of  red  noses,  large  lips,  and  rusty  teeth.  The  truth  of 
it  is,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  greatest  part  of  the 
mountain  made  up  of  bodily  deformities.  There  were 
likewise  distempers  of  all  sorts,  though  I  could  not  but 
observe  that  there  were  many  more  imaginary  than  real. 
One  little  packet  I  could  not  but  take  notice  of,  which 
was  a  complication  of  all  the  diseases  incident  to  human 
nature,  and  was  in  the  hands  of  a  great  many  fine  peo- 
ple ;  this  was  called  the  Spleen. 

But  what  most  surprised  me  was  a  remark  I  made, 
Vol.  I.— 10 


146  JOSEPH  ADDISON' 

that  there  was  not  a  single  Vice  or  Folly  thrown  into 
the  whole  heap ;  at  which  I  was  very  much  astonished, 
having  concluded  within  myself  that  every  one  would 
take  this  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  his  passions,  prej- 
udices, and  fra'lties.  I  took  notice  in  particular  of  a 
very  profligate  fellow,  who,  I  did  not  question,  came 
loaden  with  his  Crimes  ;  but  upon  searching  into  his 
bundle,  I  found  that  instead  of  throwing  his  guilt  from 
him,  he  had  only  laid  down  his  Memory.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  another  worthless  rogue,  who  flung  away  his 
Modesty  instead  of  his  Ignorance.     .     .     . 

I  saw,  with  unspeakable  pleasure,  the  whole  species 
thus  delivered  from  its  sorrow  ;  though,  at  the  same 
time,  there  was  scarce  a  mortal  in  this  vast  multitude 
who  did  not  discover  in  this  vast  heap  what  he  thought 
pleasures  and  blessings  of  life  ;  and  wondered  how  the 
owners  of  them  ever  came  to  look  upon  them  as  bur- 
thens and  grievances.  As  we  were  regarding  very  at- 
tentively this  confusion  of  miseries — this  chaos  of 
calamity — Jupiter  issued  out  a  second  proclamation, 
that  every  one  was  now  at  liberty  to  exchange  his  af- 
fliction, and  to  return  to  his  habitation  with  any  such 
other  bundle  as  should  be  delivered  to  him. 

Upon  this  Fancy  began  again  to  bestir  herself,  and 
parcelling  out  the  whole  heap  with  incredible  activity, 
recommended  to  every  one  his  particular  packet.  The 
hurry  and  confusion  at  this  time  was  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed. A  venerable  gray-headed  man,  who  had  laid 
down  the  Colic,  and  who  I  found  wanted  an  Heir  to  his 
estate,  snatched  up  an  undutiful  son  that  had  been 
thrown  into  the  heap  by  his  angry  father.  The  grace- 
less youth,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  had  the  old 
gentleman  by  the  beard,  and  had  like  to  have  knocked 
his  brains  out ;  so  that  meeting  the  true  father,  who 
came  toward  him  in  a  fit  of  the  gripes,  he  begged  him 
to  take  his  son  again,  and  give  him  back  his  Colic  ;  but 
they  were  incapable  either  of  them  to  recede  from  the 
choice  they  had  made.  A  poor  galley-slave,  who  had 
thrown  down  his  chains,  took  up  the  Gout  in  its  stead ; 
but  made  such  wry  faces  that  one  might  easily  perceive 
he  was  no  great  gainer  by  the  bargain. 

It  was  pleasant  enough  to  see  the  several  exchanges 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  147 

that  were  made  :  Sickness  against  Poverty,  Hunger 
against  Want  of  Appetite,  and  Care  against  Pain,  The 
female  world  were  very  busy  among  themselves  barter- 
ing for  features.  One  was  trucking  a  lock  of  gray  hair 
for  a  carbuncle  ;  another  was  making  over  a  short  waist 
for  a  pair  of  round  shoulders  ;  and  a  third  was  cheapen- 
ing a  bad  face  for  a  lost  reputation.  But  on  all  these 
occasions  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  think 
the  new  blemish  as  soon  as  she  had  got  it  into  her  pos- 
session much  more  disagreeable  than  the  old  one.  I 
made  the  same  observation  on  every  other  misfortune 
or  calamity  which  every  one  in  the  assembly  brought 
upon  himself  in  lieu  of  what  he  had  parted  with,  .  .  . 
The  heap  was  at  last  distributed  among  the  two  sexes, 
who  made  a  most  piteous  sight  as  they  wandered  up  and 
down  under  the  pressure  of  their  several  burthens.  The 
whole  plain  was  filled  with  murmurs  and  complaints, 
groans  and  lamentations.  Jupiter  at  length,  taking 
compassion  on  the  poor  mortals,  ordered  them  a  second 
time  to  lay  down  their  loads,  with  a  design  to  give  every 
one  his  own  again,  Tliey  discharged  themselves  with  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure,  after  which  the  Phantom  who 
had  led  them  into  such  gross  delusion  was  commanded 
to  disappear.  There  was  sent  in  her  stead  a  goddess  of 
a  quite  different  figure  :  her  name  was  Patience,  She 
had  no  sooner  placed  herself  by  this  mount  of  sorrows, 
but — what  I  thought  very  remarkable — the  whole  heap 
sank  to  such  a  degree  that  it  did  not  appear  a  third 
part  so  big  as  it  was  before.  She  afterward  returned 
every  man  his  own  proper  calamity,  and  teaching  him 
how  to  bear  it  in  the  most  commodious  manner,  he 
marched  off  with  it  contentedly  ;  being  very  well  pleased 
that  he  had  not  been  left  to  his  own  choice  as  to  the 
kind  of  evil  which  fell  to  his  lot. — T/ie  Spectator,  No. 

Addison  in  1713  contributed  about  fifty  papers 
to  Steele's  Guardian,  and  wrote  a  considerable 
number  of  political  and  other  essays;  but  his 
fame  rests  mainly  upon  The  Spectator  in  its  first 
form.    Of  the  550  numbers  about  250  were  by  Ad- 


148  JOSEPH  ADDISON' 

dison ;  and  these  are  by  far  the  best  in  the  work. 
Macaulay  even  affirms  that  "  his  worst  essay  is  as 
good  as  the  best  essay  of  any  of  his  coadjutors." 
As  The  Spectator  continued  only  two  years,  Addi- 
son must  have  written  an  average  of  between  two 
and  three  essays  every  week.  The  subjects  of 
these  are  of  the  most  varied.  On  Monday,  per- 
haps, there  would  be  an  ingenious  allegory ;  on 
Tuesday  an  Eastern  apologue ;  on  Wednesday,  a 
bit  of  character-painting ;  on  Thursday,  a  sketch 
from  common  life;  on  Friday,  a  good-natured  but 
keen  hit  at  some  fashionable  foible ;  on  Saturday, 
a  religious  meditation  well  fitted  for  the  ensuing 
day  of  rest;  and  so  on  for  alternate  days  for  more 
than  a  hundred  weeks,  the  author  being  all  the 
while  in  constant  occupation  in  important  public 
offices.  Selections  can  give  only  a  very  general 
idea  of  the  manner  and  tone  of  essays  so  varied. 

A  VISIT   TO   WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

When  I  am  in  a  serious  humor,  I  very  often  walk  by 
myself  in  Westminster  Abbey  ;  where  the  gloominess  of 
the  place  and  the  uses  to  which  it  is  applied,  with  the 
solemnity  of  the  building,  and  the  conditions  of  the 
people  who  lie  in  it,  are  apt  to  fill  the  mind  with  a  kind 
of  melancholy,  or  rather  thoughtfulness  which  is  not 
disagreeable.  I  yesterday  passed  a  whole  day  in  the 
churchyard,  the  cloisters,  and  the  church,  amusing  my- 
self with  the  tombstones  and  inscriptions  that  I  met 
with  in  those  several  regions  of  the  dead.  Most  of  them 
recorded  nothing  else  of  the  buried  person  but  that  he 
was  born  upon  one  day,  and  died  upon  another.  The 
whole  history  of  his  life  being  comprehended  in  those 
two  circumstances,  that  are  common  to  all  mankind.  I 
could  not  but  look  upon  these  registers  of  existence, 
whether  of  brass  or  marble,  as  a  kind  of  Satire  upon  the 


fOSEPH  ADDISON  149 

departed  persons,  who  had  left  no  other  memorial  of 
them  but  that  they  were  born  and  that  they  died. 

Upon  my  going  into  the  church,  I  entertained  myself 
with  the  digging  of  a  grave;  and  saw  in  every  shovel- 
ful of  it  that  was  thrown  up,  the  fragment  of  a  bone  or 
skull  intermixed  with  a  kind  of  fresh  mouldering  earth, 
that  some  time  or  other  had  had  a  place  in  the  compo- 
sition of  a  human  body.  Upon  this,  I  began  to  con- 
sider with  myself  what  innumerable  multitudes  of  people 
lay  confused  together  under  the  pavement  of  that  an- 
cient cathedral ;  how  men  and  women,  friends  and  ene- 
mies, priests  and  soldiers,  monks  and  prebendaries,  were 
crumbled  amongst  one  another,  and  blended  together  in 
the  same  common  mass ;  how  beauty,  strength,  and 
youth,  with  old  age,  weakness,  and  deformity  lay  undis- 
tinguished in  the  same  promiscuous  mass  of  matter. 

After  having  thus  surveyed  this  great  Magazine  of 
Mortality,  as  it  were,  in  the  lump,  I  examined  it  more 
particularly  by  the  accounts  which  I  found  on  several  of 
the  monuments  which  are  raised  in  every  quarter  of  that 
ancient  fabric.  Some  of  them  were  covered  with  such 
extravagant  epitaphs,  that,  if  it  were  possible  for  the 
dead  person  to  be  acquainted  with  them,  he  would  blush 
at  the  praises  which  his  friends  have  bestowed  upon 
him.  There  are  others  so  excessively  modest  that  they 
deliver  the  character  of  the  person  departed  in  Greek 
or  Hebrew.  I  found  there  were  poets  who  had  no  monu- 
ments, and  likewise  monuments  which  had  no  poets.  I 
observed  indeed  that  the  present  war  had  filled  the 
church  with  many  of  these  uninhabited  monuments, 
which  had  been  erected  to  the  memory  of  persons  whose 
bodies  were  perhaps  buried  in  the  plains  of  Blenheim,  or 
m  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  I  could  not  but  be  very 
much  delighted  with  several  modern  epitaphs,  which  are 
written  with  great  elegance  of  expression  and  justness 
of  thought,  and  therefore  do  honor  to  the  living  as  well 
as  to  the  dead.  ...  I  have  left  the  repository  of  our 
English  Kings  for  the  contemplation  of  another  day, 
when  I  shall  find  my  mind  disposed  for  so  serious  an 
amusement. 

I  know  that  entertainments  of  this  nature  are  apt  to 
raise  dark  and  dismal  thoughts  in  timorous  minds  and 


ISO  JOSEPH  ADDISOI^ 

gloomy  imaginations.  But  for  my  own  part,  though  I 
am  always  serious,  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  melan- 
choly ;  and  can  therefore  take  a  view  of  Nature  in  her 
deep  and  solemn  scenes,  with  the  same  pleasure  as  in 
her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones.  By  this  I  can  im- 
prove myself  with  those  objects  which  others  consider 
with  terror.  When  I  look  upon  the  tombs  of  the  Great, 
every  emotion  of  envy  dies  within  me ;  when  I  read  the 
epitaphs  of  the  Beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire  goes 
out ;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  Parents  upon  a 
tombstone,  my  heart  melts  with  compassion ;  when  I 
see  the  tombs  of  the  Parents  themselves,  I  consider  the 
vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we  must  quickly  fol- 
low. When  I  see  Kings  lying  side  by  side  with  those 
who  deposed  them ;  when  I  consider  rival  Wits  placed 
side  by  side,  or  the  Holy  Men  that  divided  the  world 
with  their  contests  and  disputes,  I  reflect  with  sorrow 
and  astonishment  on  the  little  competitions,  factions, 
and  debases  of  Mankind.  When  I  read  the  several 
dates  of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died  yesterday,  and 
some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider  that  Great  Day 
when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and  make  our 
appearance  together. — T/ie  Spectator,  No.  26. 

VISIT   TO   THE   ROYAL   EXCHANGE. 

There  is  no  place  in  the  town  which  I  so  much  love 
to  frequent  as  the  Royal  Exchange.  It  gives  me  a 
secret  satisfaction,  and  in  some  measure  gratifies  my 
vanity,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  to  see  so  rich  an  assem- 
bly of  countrymen  and  foreigners  consulting  together 
on  the  private  business  of  mankind,  and  making  this 
metropolis  a  kind  of  Emporium  for  the  whole  earth.  I 
must  confess  that  I  look  upon  High-Change  to  be  a 
great  Council,  in  which  all  considerable  nations  have 
their  representatives.  Factors  in  the  trading  world  are 
what  Ambassadors  are  in  the  politic  world  :  they  nego- 
tiate affairs,  and  maintain  a  good  correspondence  be- 
tween those  wealthy  societies  of  men  that  are  divided 
from  one  another  by  seas  and  oceans,  or  live  on  the 
different  extremities  of  a  continent.  I  am  infinitely  de- 
lighted in  mixing  with  these  several  Ministers  of  Com- 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  151 

merce,  as  they  are  distinguished  by  their  different  walks 
and  different  languages.  Sometimes  I  am  jostled  among 
a  body  of  Americans ;  sometimes  I  am  lost  in  a 
crowd  of  Jews  ;  and  sometimes  make  one  in  a  group  of 
Dutchmen.  I  am  a  Dane,  Swede,  a  Frenchman  at  dif- 
ferent times,  or,  rather,  fancy  myself  like  the  old  phi- 
losopher, who,  upon  being  asked  what  countryman  he 
was,  replied  that  he  was  a  "  Citizen  of  the  World."   .   .   . 

This  grand  scene  of  business  gives  me  an  infinite 
variety  of  solid  and  substantial  entertainments.  As  I 
am  a  great  lover  of  Mankind,  my  heart  naturally  over- 
flows with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  a  prosperous  and 
happy  multitude  insomuch  that  at  many  public  solem- 
nities, I  cannot  forbear  at  expressing  my  joy  with  tears 
that  have  stolen  down  my  cheeks.  For  this  reason  I 
am  wonderfully  delighted  to  see  such  a  body  of  men 
thriving  in  their  own  private  fortunes,  and  at  the  same 
time  promoting  the  public  stock  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
raising  estates  for  their  own  families,  by  bringing  into 
their  country  whatever  is  wanting,  and  carrying  out  of  it 
whatever  is  superfluous. 

Nature  seems  to  have  taken  special  care  to  dissemi- 
nate her  blessings  among  the  different  regions  of  the 
world,  with  an  eye  to  this  mutual  intercourse  and  traffic 
among  mankind,  that  the  natives  of  the  several  parts 
of  the  globe  might  have  a  kind  of  dependence  upon 
one  another,  and  be  united  together  by  their  common 
interest.  Almost  every  degree  produces  something  pe- 
culiar to  it.  The  food  often  grows  in  one  country,  and 
the  sauce  in  another.  The  fruits  of  Portugal  are  cor- 
rected by  the  sauce  of  Barbadoes  ;  the  infusion  of  a 
China  plant  sweetened  with  the  pith  of  an  Indian  cane  ; 
the  Philippine  Islands  give  a  flavor  to  our  European 
bowls.  The  single  dress  of  a  woman  of  quality  is  often 
the  product  of  a  hundred  climates ;  the  muff  and  the 
fan  come  together  from  the  different  ends  of  the  earth  ; 
the  scarf  is  sent  from  the  torrid  zone,  and  the  tippet 
from  beneath  the  pole ;  the  brocaded  petticoat  rises  out 
of  the  mines  of  Peru,  and  the  diamond  necklace  out  of 
the  bowels  of  Indostan. 

If  we  consider  our  own  country  in  its  natural  pros- 
pect,   without  any  of   the  benefits  and  advantages  of 


152  JOSEPH  ADDISON 

commerce,  what  a  barren,  uncomfortable  spot  of  earth 
falls  to  our  share  !  Natural  historians  tell  us  that  na 
fruit  grows  originally  among  us,  besides  hips  and  haws^ 
acorns  and  pig-nuts,  with  other  delicacies  of  the  like 
nature  ;  that  our  climate  of  itself,  and  without  the 
assistance  of  art,  can  make  no  further  advances  tow- 
ards a  plum  than  to  a  sloe,  and  carries  an  apple  to  no 
greater  a  perfection  than  a  crab  ;  that  our  melons,  our 
peaches,  our  figs,  our  apricots,  and  cherries,  are  stran- 
gers among  us,  imported  in  different  ages  ;  and  that  they 
would  all  degenerate  and  fall  away  into  the  trash  of 
our  own  country,  if  they  were  wholly  neglected  by  the 
planter,  and  left  to  the  mercy  of  our  sun  and  soil. 

Nor  has  traffic  more  enriched  our  vegetable  world 
than  it  has  improved  the  whole  face  of  Nature  among 
us.  Our  ships  are  laden  with  the  harvest  of  every 
climate ;  our  tables  are  stored  with  spices  and  oils  and 
wines.  Our  rooms  are  filled  with  pyramids  of  China, 
and  adorned  with  the  workmanship  of  Japan.  Oui! 
morning's  draught  comes  to  us  from  the  remotest  cor- 
ners of  the  earth.  We  repair  our  bodies  by  the  drugs 
of  America,  and  repose  ourselves  under  Indian  cano- 
pies. My  friend,  Sir  Andrew,  calls  the  vineyards  of 
France  our  gardens ;  the  Spice  Islands  our  hot-beds  ; 
the  Persians  our  silk-weavers,  and  the  Chinese  our  pot- 
ters. Nature  indeed  furnishes  with  the  bare  necessaries 
of  life  ;  but  traffic  gives  us  a  great  variety  of  what  is 
useful,  and  at  the  same  time  supplies  us  with  everything 
that  is  convenient  and  ornamental.     .     .     . 

For  these  reasons,  there  are  not  more  useful  members 
in  a  commonwealth  than  Merchants.  They  knit  man- 
kind together  in  a  mutual  intercourse  of  good  offices ; 
distribute  the  gifts  of  Nature  ;  find  work  for  the  poor, 
and  wealth  to  the  rich,  and  magnificence  to  the  great. 
Our  English  merchant  converts  the  tin  of  his  own 
country  into  gold,  and  exchanges  his  wool  for  rubies. 
The  Mahometans  are  clothed  in  our  British  manufact- 
ures and  the  inhabitants  of  the  frozen  zone  warmed 
with  the  fleeces  of  our  sheep. 

When  I  have  been  standing  upon  the  Change,  I  have 
often  fancied  one  of  our  old  Kings  standing  in  person 
where  he  is  represented  in  effigy,  and  looking  down 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  153 

upon  the  wealthy  concourse  of  people  with  which  that 
place  is  every  day  filled.  In  this  case  how  would  he  be 
surprised  to  hear  all  the  languages  of  Europe  spoken 
in  this  little  spot  of  his  former  dominions,  and  to  see  so 
many  private  men,  who  in  his  time  would  have  been  the 
vassals  of  some  powerful  baron,  negotiating  like  Princes 
for  greater  sums  of  money  than  were  formerly  to  be 
met  with  in  the  royal  treasury  !  Trade,  without  en- 
larging the  British  territories,  has  given  us  a  kind  of 
additional  Empire,  It  has  multiplied  the  number  of  the 
rich,  made  our  landed  estates  infinitely  more  valuable 
than  they  were  formerly,  and  added  to  them  estates  as 
valuable  as  the  land  itself, — Spectator^  No.  6p. 

THE   DISSECTION    OF   A    BEAU's   HEAD. 

I  was  invited  to  the  dissection  of  a  Beau's  Head.  An 
operator  opened  it  with  a  great  deal  of  nicety  ;  and 
upon  a  cursory  and  superficial  view,  it  appeared  like  the 
head  of  another  man  ;  but  upon  applying  our  glasses  to 
it,  we  made  a  very  odd  discovery,  namely,  that  what  we 
looked  upon  as  brains  were  not  such  in  reality,  but  a 
heap  of  strange  materials  wound  up  in  that  shape  and 
texture,  and  packed  together  with  wonderful  art  in  the 
several  cavities  of  the  skull.  For,  as  Homer  tells  us 
that  the  blood  of  the  gods  is  not  real  blood,  but  only 
something  like  it,  so  we  found  that  the  brain  of  a  beau 
is  not  a  real  brain,  but  only  something  like  it. 

The  Pineal  Gland,  which  many  of  our  modern  philoS' 
ophers  suppose  to  be  the  Seat  of  the  Soul,  smelt  very 
strongly  of  essence  and  orange-flower  water,  and  was 
encompassed  with  a  kind  of  horny  substance,  cut  into  a 
thousand  little  faces  or  mirrors,  which  were  impercep- 
tible to  the  naked  eye  ;  insomuch  that  the  Soul,  if  there 
had  been  any  here,  must  have  been  always  taken  up  in 
contemplating  her  own  beauties. 

We  observed  a  large  antrum  or  cavity  in  the  Sinciput, 
that  was  filled  with  ribbons,  lace,  and  embroidery, 
wrought  together  in  a  most  curious  piece  of  network, 
the  parts  of  which  were  likewise  imperceptible  to  the 
naked  eye.  Another  of  these  antrums  or  cavities  was 
stuffed  with   invisible  billet-doux,  love-letters,   pricked 


154  JOSEPH  ADDISON- 

dances,  and  other  trumpery  of  the  same  nature.  In  an- 
other we  found  a  kind  of  powder,  which  set  the  whole 
company  sneezing,  and  by  the  scent  discovered  itself  to 
be  "  right  Spanish."  The  several  other  cells  were  stored 
with  commodities  of  the  same  kind,  of  which  it  would 
be  tedious  to  give  the  reader  an  exact  description. 

There  was  a  large  cavity  on  each  side  of  the  head, 
which  I  must  not  omit.  That  on  the  right  side  was 
filled  with  fictions,  flatteries,  and  falsehoods,  vows, 
promises,  and  protestations  ;  that  on  the  left  with  oaths 
and  imprecations.  There  issued  out  a  duct  from  each 
of  these  cells,  which  ran  into  the  root  of  the  tongue, 
where  both  joined  together,  and  passed  into  one  com- 
mon duct  to  the  tip  of  it.  We  discovered  several  little 
roads  or  canals  running  from  the  ear  into  the  brain,  and 
took  particular  care  to  trace  them  out  through  their 
several  passages.  One  of  them  extended  itself  to  a 
bundle  of  sonnets  and  little  musical  instruments  ;  others 
ended  in  several  bladders  which  were  filled  with  wind  or 
froth.  But  the  large  canal  entered  into  a  great  cavity 
of  the  skull,  from  whence  there  went  another  canal  into 
the  tongue.  This  great  cavity  was  filled  with  a  kind  of 
a  spongy  substance,  which  the  French  anatomists  call 
Galimatias^  and  the  English,  "  Nonsense." 

The  skins  of  the  forehead  were  extremely  tough  and 
thick  ;  and  what  very  much  surprised  us,  had  not  in 
them  any  single  blood-vessel  that  we  were  able  to  dis- 
cover, either  with  or  without  our  glasses;  from  which 
we  concluded  that  the  party  when  alive  must  have  been 
entirely  deprived  of  the  faculty  of  blushing. 

The  Os  Cribriforme  was  exceedingly  stuffed,  and  in 
some  places  damaged  by  snuff.  We  could  not  but  take 
notice  in  particular  of  that  small  muscle,  which  is  not 
often  discovered  in  dissections,  and  draws  the  nose  up- 
wards, when  it  expresses  the  contempt  which  the  owner 
of  it  has,  upon  seeing  anything  he  does  not  like,  or  hear- 
ing anything  he  does  not  understand.  I  need  not  tell 
my  learned  reader,  that  this  is  that  muscle  which  per- 
forms the  motion  so  often  mentioned  by  the  Latin  poets, 
when  they  talk  of  a  man's  "  cocking  his  nose,"  or  "  play- 
ing rhinoceros." 

We  did  not  find  anything  remarkable  in  the  Eye,  sav- 


JOSEPH  ADDISON"  I55 

ing  only  that  the  Micsculi  amatorit,  or,  as  we  may  trans- 
late it  into  English,  the  **  Ogling  Muscles,"  were  very 
much  worn  and  decayed  with  use  ;  whereas,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  Elevator,  or  the  muscle  which  turns  the  eye 
toward  heaven,  did  not  appear  to  have  been  used  at 
all. 

I  have  only  mentioned  in  this  dissection  such  new  dis- 
coveries as  we  were  able  to  make,  and  have  not  taken 
any  notice  of  those  parts  which  are  to  be  met  with  in 
common  heads.  As  for  the  skull,  the  face,  and  indeed 
the  whole  outward  shape  and  figure  of  the  head,  we 
could  not  discover  any  difference  from  what  we  discover 
in  the  heads  of  other  men.  V/e  were  informed  that  the 
person  to  whom  this  head  belonged  had  passed  for  a 
Man  above  five-and-thirty  years,  during  which  time  he 
ate  and  drank  like  other  people  ;  dressed  well,  talked 
loud,  laughed  frequently,  and  on  particular  occasions 
has  acquitted  himself  tolerably  at  a  ball  or  an  assembly: 
to  which  one  of  the  company  added,  that  a  certain  knot 
of  ladies  took  him  for  a  Wit. — Spectator^  No.  2jj. 

THE   TRANSMIGRATION    OF   PUG,    THE   MONKEY. 

Will  Honeycomb  told  us  that  Jack  Freelove,  who  was 
a  fellow  of  whim,  made  love  to  one  of  those  ladies  who 
throw  away  all  their  fondness  upon  parrots,  monkeys, 
and  lap-dogs.  Upon  going  to  pay  her  a  visit  one  morn- 
ing he  wrote  a  very  pretty  epistle  upon  this  hint.  Jack, 
says  Will,  was  conducted  into  the  parlor,  where  he  di- 
verted himself  for  some  time  with  her  favorite  monkey, 
which  was  chained  in  one  of  the  windows ;  till  at  length 
observing  a  pen  and  ink  lie  by  him,  he  writ  the  follow- 
ing letter  to  his  mistress,  in  the  person  of  her  monkey  ; 
and  upon  her  not  coming  down  so  soon  as  he  expected, 
left  it  in  the  window  and  went  about  his  business.  The 
lady  soon  after  coming  into  the  parlor,  and  seeing  her 
monkey  look  upon  a  paper  with  great  earnestness,  took 
it  up  and  to  this  day  is  in  some  doubt — says  Will— 
whether  it  was  written  by  Jack  or  the  Monkey  : 

"  Madam — Not  having  the  gift  of  speech,  I  have  for 
a  long  time  waited  in  vain  for  an  opportunity  of  making 
myself  known  to  you ;  and  having  at  present  the  con- 


156  JOSEPH  ADDISON" 

venience  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper  by  me,  I  gladly  take 
the  occasion  of  giving  you  my  history  in  writing,  whicK 
I  could  not  do  by  word  of  mouth  : 

"  You  must  know,  Madam,  that  about  a  thousaad 
years  ago  I  was  an  Indian  Brachman,  and  versed  in  all 
those  mysterious  secrets  which  your  European  philoso- 
pher, called  Pythagoras,  is  said  to  have  learned  from 
our  fraternity.  I  had  so  ingratiated  myself  by  my  great 
skill  in  the  occult  sciences  with  a  Dcemon  whom  I  used 
to  converse  with,  that  he  prom.ised  to  grant  me  what- 
ever I  should  ask  of  him.  I  desired  that  my  soul  might 
never  pass  into  the  body  of  a  brute  creature  ;  but  this 
he  told  me  was  not  in  his  power  to  grant  me.  I  then 
begged  that  into  whatever  creature  I  should  chance  to 
transmigrate,  I  might  still  retain  my  memory,  and  be 
conscious  that  I  was  the  same  person  who  had  lived  in 
different  animals. 

"  This  he  told  me  was  within  his  power,  and  accord- 
ingly promised,  on  the  word  of  a  Deemon,  that  he  would 
grant  me  what  I  desired.  From  that  time  forth  I  lived 
so  very  unblamably  that  I  was  made  President  of  a 
College  of  Brachmans — an  office  which  I  discharged 
with  great  integrity  till  the  day  of  my  death. 

"I  was  then  shuffled  into  another  human  body,  and 
acted  my  part  so  well  in  it  that  I  became  First  Minister 
to  a  Prince  who  lived  upon  the  banks  of  the  Ganges. 
1  here  lived  in  great  honor  for  several  years,  but  by 
degrees  lost  all  the  innocence  of  the  Brachman,  being 
obliged  to  rifle  and  oppress  the  people  to  enrich  my 
sovereign;  till  at  length  I  became  so  odious  that  my 
master,  to  recover  his  credit  with  his  subjects,  shot  me 
through  the  heart  with  an  arrow  as  I  was  one  day  ad^ 
dressing  myself  to  him  at  the  head  of  his  army. 

**  Upon  my  next  remove  I  found  myself  in  the  woods 
under  the  shape  of  a  Jackall,  and  soon  lifted  myself 
into  the  service  of  a  lion.  I  used  to  yelp  near  his  den 
about  midnight,  which  was  his  time  of  rousing  and 
seeking  after  his  prey.  He  always  followed  me  in  the 
rear,  and  when  I  had  run  down  a  fat  buck,  a  wild  goat, 
or  a  hare,  after  he  had  feasted  very  plentifully  upon  it 
himself,  would  now  and  then  throw  me  a  bone  that  was 
half-picked,  for  my  encouragement ;  but  upon  my  being 


JOSEPH  ADD/SON  157 

unsuccessful  in  two  or  three  chases,  he  gave  .uc  stich  a 
confounded  grip  in  his  anger  that  I  died  of  it. 

"  In  my  next  transmigration  I  was  again  set  upon 
two  legs,  and  became  an  Indian  Tax-gatherer ;  but 
having  been  guilty  of  great  extravagances,  and  being 
married  to  an  expensive  jade  of  a  wife,  I  ran  so  curs- 
edly in  debt  that  I  durst  not  show  my  head.  I  could 
no  sooner  step  out  of  my  house  but  I  was  arrested  by 
somebody  or  other  that  lay  in  wait  for  me.  As  I  vent- 
ured abroad  one  night  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  I 
was  taken  up  and  hurried  into  a  dungeon,  where  I  died 
a  few  months  after. 

"  My  soul  then  entered  into  a  flying  fish,  and  in  that 
state  I  led  a  most  melancholy  life  for  the  space  of  six 
years.  Several  fishes  of  prey  pursued  me  when  I  was 
in  the  water,  and  if  I  betook  myself  to  my  wings,  it 
was  ten  to  one  but  I  had  a  flock  of  birds  aiming  at  me. 
As  I  was  one  day  flying  amidst  a  fleet  of  English  ships, 
I  observed  a  huge  Sea-gull  whetting  his  bill  and  hover- 
ing just  over  my  head.  Upon  my  dipping  into  the 
Kater  to  avoid  him,  I  fell  into  the  mouth  of  a  monstrous 
shark  that  swallowed  me  down  in  an  instant. 

"  I  was  some  years  afterward,  to  my  great  surprise, 
an  eminent  Banker  in  Lombard  Street ;  and  remember- 
ing how  I  had  formerly  suffered  for  want  of  money, 
became  so  very  sordid  and  avaricious  that  the  whole 
town  cried  shame  upon  me.  I  was  a  miserable  little 
old  fellow  to  look  upon,  for  I  had  in  a  manner  starved 
myself,  and  was  nothing  but  skin  and  bone  v/hen  I 
died. 

"  I  was  afterward  very  much  troubled  and  amazed 
to  find  myself  dwindled  to  an  Emmet.  I  was  heartily 
concerned  to  make  so  insignificant  a  figure,  and  did  noc 
know  but  some  time  or  other  I  might  be  reduced  to  a 
mite,  if  I  did  not  mend  my  manners.  I  therefore  ap- 
plied myself  with  great  diligence  to  the  offices  that 
were  allotted  to  me,  and  was  generally  looked  upon  as 
the  notablest  ant  in  the  whole  molehill.  I  was  at  last 
picked  up,  as  I  was  groaning  under  a  burden,  by  an 
unlucky  cock-sparrow  that  lived  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  had  before  made  great  depredations  upon  our  com- 
monwealth. 


158  JOSEPH  ADDISON- 

"  I  then  bettered  my  condition  a  little,  and  lived  a 
whole  summer  in  the  shape  of  a  Bee  ;  but  being  tired 
of  the  painful  and  penurious  life  I  had  undergone  in 
my  last  two  transmigrations,  I  fell  into  the  other  ex- 
treme and  turned  Drone.  As  I  one  day  headed  a  party 
to  plunder  a  hive,  we  were  received  so  warmly  by  the 
swarm  which  defended  it  that  we  were  for  the  most 
part  left  dead  upon  the  spot. 

"  I  might  tell  of  many  other  transmigrations  which  I 
went  through  :  How  I  was  a  Town  Rake,  and  after- 
ward did  penance  in  a  bay  Gelding  for  ten  years  ;  as 
also  how  I  was  a  Tailor,  a  Shrimp,  and  a  Tom-tit.  In 
the  last  of  these  my  shapes  I  was  shot  in  the  Christ- 
mas holidays  by  a  young  jackanapes,  who  would  needs 
try  his  new  gun  upon  me. 

"  But  I  shall  pass  over  these,  and  several  other  stages 
of  life  to  remind  you  of  the  young  Beau,  who  made 
Jove  to  you  about  six  years  since.  You  may  remember, 
Madam,  how  he  masked  and  danced,  and  sung,  and 
played  a  thousand  tricks  to  gain  you  ;  and  how  he  was 
at  last  carried  off  by  a  cold  that  he  had  got  under 
your  window  one  night  in  a  serenade.  I  was  that 
unfortunate  young  fellow  whom  you  were  then  so  cruel 
to. 

**  Not  long  after  my  shifting  that  unlucky  body,  I 
found  myself  upon  a  hill  in  Ethiopia,  where  I  lived  in 
my  present  grotesque  shape,  till  I  was  caught  by  a 
servant  of  the  English  factory  and  sent  over  into  Great 
Britain.  I  need  not  inform  you  how  I  came  into  your 
hand.  You  see,  Madam,  this  is  not  the  first  time  you 
have  had  me  in  a  chain.  I  am,  however,  very  happy  in 
this  my  captivity,  as  you  often  bestow  on  me  those 
kisses  and  caresses  which  I  would  have  given  the  world 
for  when  I  was  a  man.  I  hope  this  discovery  of  my 
person  will  not  tend  to  my  disadvantage  ;  but  that  you 
will  still  continue  your  accustomed  favors  to  Your  most 
devoted  and  humble  Servant,  Pug. 

"P.  S.  I  would  advise  your  little  Shock-dog  to  keep 
out  of  my  way ;  for,  as  I  look  upon  him  to  be  the  most 
formidable  of  my  rivals,  I  may  chance  one  time  or 
other  to  give  him  such  a  snap  as  he  won't  like." — The 
Spectator ^  No.  343. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  I59 

Some  of  Addison's  essays  in  The  Spectator  form 
connected  series,  each  of  which  would  constitute 
a  considerable  volume.  Among  these  are  the 
critiques  upon  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  and  upon 
the  English  Ballads.  Of  these  Macaulay  says : 
"  They  are  always  luminous,  and  often  ingenious. 
The  very  worst  of  them  must  be  regarded  as 
creditable  to  him,  when  the  character  of  the 
school  in  which  he  had  been  trained  is  fairly  con- 
sidered. The  best  of  them  were  much  too  good 
for  his  readers.  In  truth,  he  was  not  so  far  be- 
hind our  generation  as  he  was  before  his  own." 
The  essays  in  which  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  and 
his  friends  appear  as  characters  "  can  hardly," 
continues  Macaulay,  "  be  said  to  form  a  plot ;  yet 
they  are  related  with  such  truth,  such  grace, 
such  wit,  such  humor,  such  pathos,  such  knowl- 
edge of  the  human  heart,  such  knowledge  of  the 
ways  of  the  world,  that  they  charm  us  on  the 
hundredth  perusal.  We  have  not  the  least  doubt 
that  if  Addison  had  written  a  novel  on  an  exten- 
sive plan,  it  would  have  been  superior  to  any  that 
we  possess.  As  it  is,  he  is  entitled  to  be  consid- 
ered not  only  as  the  greatest  of  the  English  Es- 
sayists, but  as  the  forerunner  of  the  great  English 
Novelists."  These  papers  are  brought  to  a  fitting 
close  by  the  account  of  the  death  of  the  good  old 
Knight: 

THE  DEATH  OP  SIR  ROGER  DE  COVERLY. 

We  last  night  received  a  piece  of  ill  news  at  our  Club, 
which  very  sensibly  afflicted  every  one  of  us.  I  ques- 
tion not  but  my  readers  themselves  will  be  troubled  at 
the  hearing  of  it.     To  keep  them  no  longer  in  suspense, 


l6o  JOSEPH  ADDISON 

Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  is  dead.  He  departed  this  life  at 
his  house  in  the  country,  after  a  few  weeks'  sickness. 
Sir  Andrew  Freeport  has  a  letter  from  one  of  his  cor- 
respondents in  those  parts,  that  informs  him  the  old 
man  caught  a  cold  at  the  county-sessions,  as  he  was 
warmly  promoting  an  Address  of  his  own  penning  in 
which  he  succeeded  according  to  his  wishes.  But  this 
particular  comes  from  a  Whig  Justice  of  the  Peace,  who 
was  always  Sir  Roger's  enemy  and  antagonist.  I  have 
letters  from  the  Chaplain  and  Captain  Sentry,  which 
mention  nothing  of  it,  but  are  filled  with  many  particu- 
lars to  the  honor  of  the  death  of  the  good  old  man.  I 
have  likewise  a  letter  from  the  Butler  who  took  such 
care  of  me  last  summer  when  I  was  at  the  Knight's 
house.  As  my  friend  the  Butler  mentions  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  his  heart  several  circumstances  the  others 
have  passed  over  in  silence,  I  shall  give  my  reader  a 
copy  of  his  letter  without  any  alteration  or  diminution  : 

*■'■  Honored  Sir — Knowing  that  you  were  my  master's 
good  friend,  I  could  not  forbear  sending  you  the  mel- 
ancholy news  of  his  death,  which  has  afflicted  the  whole 
county,  as  well  as  his  poor  servants,  who  loved  him,  I 
may  say,  better  than  we  did  our  lives.  I  am  afraid  he 
caught  his  death  the  last  county-sessions,  where  he 
would  go  to  see  justice  done  to  a  poor  widow  woman, 
and  her  fatherless  children,  that  had  been  wronged  by  a 
neighboring  Gentleman  ;  for  you  know  my  good  master 
was  always  the  poor  man's  friend. 

"  Upon  his  coming  home  the  first  complaint  he  made 
was,  that  he  had  lost  his  roast-beef  stomach,  not  being 
able  to  touch  a  sirloin,  which  was  served  up  according 
to  custom  ;  and  you  know  he  used  to  take  great  delight 
in  it.  From  that  time  forward  he  grew  worse  and 
worse,  but  still  kept  a  good  heart  to  the  last.  Indeed 
we  were  once  in  great  hopes  of  his  recovery,  upon  a 
kind  message  that  was  sent  him  from  a  widow  Lady 
whom  he  had  made  love  to  the  forty  last  years  of  his 
life  ;  but  this  only  proved  a  lightening  before  his  death. 
He  has  bequeathed  to  this  Lady,  as  a  token  of  his  love, 
a  great  pearl  necklace,  and  a  couple  of  silver  bracelets 
set  with  jewels,  which  belonged  to  my  good  old  Lady, 
his  mother. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON-  l6i 

•'  He  has  bequeathed  the  fine  white  gelding  that  he 
i;sed  to  ride  a-hunting  upon,  to  his  Chaplain,  because 
he  thought  he  would  be  kind  to  him  ;  and  he  has  left 
you  all  his  books.  He  has,  moreover,  bequeathed  to  the 
Chaplain  a  very  pretty  tenement  with  good  lands  about 
it.  It  being  a  very  cold  day  when  he  made  his  will,  he 
left  for  mourning,  to  every  man  in  the  parish,  a  great 
frieze-coat,  and  to  every  woman  a  black  riding-hood. 

"It  was  a  very  moving  sight  to  see  him  take  leave  of 
his  poor  servants,  commending  us  all  for  our  fidelity, 
whilst  we  were  not  able  to  speak  a  word  for  weeping. 
As  we  most  of  us  are  grown  gray-headed  in  our  dear 
master's  service,  he  has  left  us  pensions  and  legacies, 
which  we  may  live  very  comfortable  upon  the  remain- 
ing part  of  our  days.  He  has  bequeathed  a  great  deal 
more  in  charity,  which  is  not  yet  come  to  my  knowl- 
edge ;  and  it  is  peremptorily  said  in  the  parish,  that  he 
has  left  money  to  build  a  steeple  to  the  church  ;  for  he 
was  heard  to  say  some  time  ago,  that  if  he  lived  two 
years  longer,  Coverly  Church  should  have  a  steeple  to 
it.  The  Chaplain  tells  everybody  that  he  made  a  very 
good  end,  and  never  speaks  of  him  without  tears. 

"  He  was  buried,  according  to  his  own  directions, 
among  the  family  of  the  Coverlies,  on  the  left  hand  of 
his  father.  Sir  Arthur.  The  coffin  was  carried  by  six  of 
his  tenants,  and  the  pall  held  by  six  of  the  Quorum. 
The  whole  parish  followed  the  corpse,  with  heavy 
hearts,  and  in  their  mourning  suits,  the  men  in  frieze, 
and  the  women  in  riding-hoods. 

"  Captain  Sentry,  my  master's  nephew,  has  taken  pos- 
session of  the  Hall-house,  and  the  whole  estate.  When 
my  old  master  saw  him  a  little  before  his  death,  he 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wished  him  joy  of  the 
estate  which  was  falling  to  him,  desiring  him  only  to 
make  a  good  use  of  it,  and  to  pay  the  several  legacies 
and  the  gifts  of  charity,  which  he  told  him  he  had  left 
as  quit-rents  upon  the  estate.  The  Captain  truly  seems 
a  courteous  man,  though  he  says  but  little.  He  makes 
much  of  those  whom  my  master  loved,  and  shows  great 
kindness  to  the  old  house-dog,  that  you  know  my  poor 
master  was  so  fond  of.  It  would  have  gone  to  your 
heart  to  have  heard  the  moans  the  dumb  creature  made 
Vol.  I.— II 


Ite  JOSEPH  ADDISON- 

on  the  day  of  my  master's  death.  He  has  never  joyed 
himself  since  ;  no  more  has  any  of  us.  It  was  the  mel- 
anchoHest  day  for  the  poor  people  that  ever  happened 
in  Worcestershire.  This  being  all  from,  Honored  Sir, 
Your  most  Sorrowful  Servant,  Edward  Biscuit. 

"/'.  S.  My  master  desired,  some  weeks  before  he 
died,  that  a  book  v/hich  comes  up  to  you  by  the  carrier 
should  be  given  to  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  in  his  name." 

This  letter,  notv/ithstanding  the  poor  Butler's  man- 
ner of  writing  it,  gave  us  such  an  idea  of  our  good  old 
friend  that  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  Club.  Sir 
Andrew,  opening  the  book,  found  it  to  be  a  collection 
of  Acts  of  Parliament.  There  was  in  particular  the 
Act  of  Uniformity,  with  some  passages  in  it  marked  by 
Sir  Roger's  own  hand.  Sir  Andrew  found  that  they  re- 
lated to  two  or  three  points  which  he  had  disputed  with 
Sir  Roger  the  last  time  he  appeared  at  the  Club.  Sir 
Andrew,  who  would  have  been  merry  at  such  an  inci- 
dent on  another  occasion,  at  the  sight  of  the  old  man's 
handwriting  burst  into  tears,  and  put  the  book  into  his 
pocket.  Captain  Sentry  informs  me  that  the  Knight 
has  left  rings  and  mourning  for  everyone  in  the  Club. 
—The  Spectator,  No.  5/7. 


ABLER,  Felix,  author  and  lecturer,  was  born 
in  Alzey,  Germany,  August  13,  185 1.  He  is  the 
son  of  a  Hebrew  rabbi,  and  came  to  the  United 
States  when  quite  young.  He  graduated  at 
Columbia  College  in  1870,  and  afterward  studied 
at  Berlin,  and  at  Heidelberg.  From  Heidelberg 
he  received  the  degree  of  Ph.D.  From  1874  to 
1876  he  was  Professor  of  Hebrew  and  Oriental 
Literature  at  Cornell  University.  In  1876  he  es- 
tablished in  New  York  City  the  Society  of  Ethical 
Culture.  Mr.  Adler  is  the  lecturer  for  this  soci- 
ety, which  supports  a  number  of  charities.  His 
most  important  works  are  Creed  and  Deed  (1878) 
and  The  Moral  Instruction  of  Children  (1892). 


IMMORTALITY. 

True  disinterestedness  is  the  distinguishing  mark  of 
every  high  endeavor.  The  pursuit  of  the  artist  is  un- 
selfish, the  beauty  he  creates  is  his  reward.  The  toil 
of  the  scientist  in  the  pursuit  of  abstract  truth  is  un- 
selfish, the  truth  he  sees  is  his  reward.  Why  should  we 
hesitate  to  acknowledge  in  the  domain  of  ethics  what 
we  concede  in  the  realm  of  art  and  science  ?  To  say 
that  unselfishness  itself  is  only  the  more  refined  ex- 
pression of  a  selfish  instinct,  is  to  use  the  term  selfish 
with  a  double  meaning,  is  a  mere  empty  play  on  words. 
We  have  the  innate  need  of  harmony  in  the  moral  rela- 
tions ;  this  is  our  glory,  and  the  stamp  of  the  Divine 
upon  our  nature.  We  cannot  demonstrate  the  existence 
of  disinterested  motives  any  more  than  we  can  demon- 
strate that  Ihcx'-e  is  joy  in  the  sun!i<rht  and  freedom  in 

U63; 


i64  FELIX  ADLER 

the  mountain  breeze.  The  fact  that  we  demand  unselfish- 
ness in  action  alone  assures  us  that  the  standard  of  en- 
lightened self-interest  is  false. 

And  indeed,  if  we  consult  the  opinions  of  men  where 
they  are  least  likely  to  be  warped  by  sophistry,  we  shall 
fmd  that  disinterestedness  is  the  universal  criterion  by 
vhich  moral  worth  is  measured.  If  we  suspect  the 
motive  we  condemn  the  act.  If  a  person  gives  largely 
f'>r  some  object  of  public  usefulness,  or  charity,  we  do 
not  permit  the  munificence  of  the  gift  to  deceive  our 
ju'lgment.  Perhaps  he  is  merely  desirous  of  vaunting 
his  wealth,  perhaps  it  is  social  standing  he  aims  at,  per- 
haps he  is  covetous  of  fame.  If  these  suspicions  prove 
well  founded,  the  very  men  who  accept  his  bounty  will, 
in  their  secret  hearts,  despise  him,  and  by  a  certain  re- 
vulsion of  feeling  we  shall  resent  his  action  all  the  more, 
because,  not  only  is  he  destitute  of  honorable  purpose, 
but  he  has  filched  the  fair  front  of  virtue,  and  defiled 
the  laurel  even  in  the  wearing  of  it. 

We  do  not  even  accord  the  name  of  goodness  to  that 
easy,  amiable  sympathy  which  leads  us  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  of  others,  unless  it  be  guided  by  wise  regard 
for  their  permanent  welfare.  The  tattered  clothes,  the 
haggard  looks,  the  piteous  pleading  voice  of  the  pau- 
per on  the  public  highway  may  awaken  our  pity,  but 
the  system  of  indiscriminate  alms-giving  is  justly  con- 
demned as  a  weakness  rather  than  a  virtue. 

On  the  other  hand,  obedience  to  duty,  when  it  involves 
pain  and  self-abnegation,  seems  to  rise  in  the  general 
estimation.  Clearly  because  in  this  instance  even  the 
suspicion  of  interested  motives  is  removed,  since  hard- 
ship, injury  in  estate  and  happiness,  and  even  the  possi- 
ble loss  of  life,  are  among  the  foreseen  consequences  of 
the  act.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  Book  of  Martyrs 
has  become  the  golden  book  of  mankind,  and  that  the 
story  of  their  lives  never  fails  to  fill  us  with  mingled 
sorrow  and  admiration  and  pride.  They  are  monu- 
ments on  the  field  of  history,  and  milestones  on  the 
path  of  human  progress.  We  regard  them  and  gain 
new  courage  and  confidence  in  our  better  selves.  The 
blazing  pyre  on  the  Canipo  Fiore,  whereon  Gior- 
dano Bruno  breathes   his  last,  becomes  a   beacon-light 


FELIX  ABLER  165 

for  the  truth-seeker ;  the  dying  Socrates  still  pours  be-  I 

nignant  peace  over  many  a  sufferer's  couch  ;  the  Man 

of    sorrows,  on  Calvary,  comforts   the   hearts   of    the 

Christian  millions.     In  the  presence  of  these  high   ex-  ( 

amples  the  inadequacy  of  the  selfish  standard  becomes  ' 

clearly  apparent.     We  recognize  what  a  sublime  quality  \ 

that  is  in  man  which  enables  him,  not  only  to  triumph  y 

over  torment  and  suffering,  but  to  devote  his  very  self 

to  destruction  for  the  sake  of  honor  and  truth.     Freely  H 

must   Virtue   be    wooed,    not  for  the  dowry  she  may  ^ 

bring ;  by  loyal  devotion  to  her  for  her  own  sake  only, 

can  she  be  won  ! 

If  thus  it  appears  that  not  only  is  there  nothing  in 
the    nature  of   Virtue  to   warrant  a  claim  to  reward, 

but  that  it  is  her  very  nature   to  disclaim  any  reward,  1 

it  will  become  plain  that  the  problem,  as  stated  in  the 
beginning,  rests  upon  an  entirely  false  foundation. 
That  the  unrighteous  and  unprincipled  should  enjoy 
temporal  happiness,  does  not  offend  the  law  of  justice. 
That  you,  my  good  sir,  honest  in  all  your  dealings, 
truthful  in  all  your  acts,  should  be  unhappy,  is  greatly 
to  be  deplored.  Why  evil  and  unhappiness  should  have 
been  allowed  at  all  to  enter  a  world  created  by  an  all 
good  and  all  powerful  Being  may  fairly  be  asked.  Why 
those  who  possess  the  treasure  of  a  clear  conscience 
should  not  also  possess  the  lesser  goods  of  earth,  is  a 
question  with  which  morality  is  in  nowise  concerned. 

Virtue  can  have  no  recompense,  save  as  it  is  its  own 
recompense,  and  vice  can  receive  no  real  punishment, 
save  as  it  is  its  own  avenger.  The  hope  of  immortality, 
in  so  far  as  it  is  based  upon  the  supposed  necessity  ot 
righting  in  a  future  state  what  is  here  wrong,  is  there- 
fore untenable,  for  it  is  based  upon  the  assumption  of 
a  wrong  which  exists  in  the  imagmation  merely.  And 
he  who  claims  a  reward  because  of  his  virtue,  has  thereby 
forfeited  his  right  to  Jtiaintain  the  claim,  since  that  is  not 
virtue  which  looks  for  rewo.rd. — Creed  and  Deed. 


JELIANUS,  Claudius,  a  Roman  rhetorician 
of  the  second  century  a.d.,  was  born  at  Prasneste 
in  Italy.  He  was  a  teacher  of  rhetoric  at  Rome, 
probably  under  Hadrian.  On  account  of  his  ac- 
curacy and  grace  in  speaking  and  writing  Greek, 
he  was  surnamed  the  "  Honey-tongued  :  "  he  was 
also  called  the  "  Sophist,"  from  his  occupation. 
He  was  very  fond  of  retirement,  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  study  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  Isocrates, 
Plutarch,  Homer,  Anacreon,  etc.,  and,  although  he 
was  a  Roman,  he  gave  preference  to  the  Greek 
writers,  and  used  the  Greek  language  in  his  works. 

His  entertaining  work  entitled  Vai'ia  Historia 
has  many  times  been  republished,  as  also  his 
treatise,  De  Natura  Attimalium.  An  edition  of  the 
latter  work  published  by  Schneider,  at  Leipsic,  in 
1784,  is  considered  very  useful;  also  that  pub- 
lished by  Fr.  Jacobs  in  1832.  In  an  edition  of  his 
collected  works  by  Gesner,  1556,  another  work, 
entitled  EpistolcB  RusticcE,  is  also  attributed  to  him. 
His  Varia  Historia  contains  anecdotes  of  every 
kind,  historical,  biographical,  and  antiquarian,  put 
together  without  any  connection  whatever,  and 
was  probably  never  intended  for  publication. 


THE   SUCKING-FISH. 


The  Echeneis  is  a  sea-fish  of  a  blackish  aspect,  about 
AS  long  as  a  middling  eel.     It  is  named  Echeneis  from 

(166) 


CLAUDIUS  ^ LI  ANUS 


167 


its  strong  faculty  ;  for,  seizing  upon  the  hind  part  of  a 
ship,  though  under  full  sail,  in  a  brisk  wind,  it  will  stop 
her  course  as  a  furious  horse  is  restrained  by  a  strong 
bit  and  bridle.  In  vain  are  the  sails  spread,  and  in  vain 
do  the  winds  blow;  the  passengers  are  terrified,  but  the 
sailors  know  the  reason  of  it. — Jlisf.  De  Animal^  Lib, 

TWO  FAMOUS  EPIGRAMS, 

Short  ears  are  an  element  of  beauty. 

The  whole  of  human  virtue  may  be  reduced  to  speak- 
ing the  truth  always,  and  doing  good  to  others. 


JESCHINES,  an  Athenian  orator,  and  the 
most  noted  rival  of  Demosthenes,  born  at  Athens, 
389  B.C.;  died  at  Samos,  314  B.C.  The  accounts  of 
his  origin  are  contradictory.  He  entered  into 
public  service  at  an  early  age ;  became  an  actor, 
served  with  credit  in  the  army,  and  afterward 
appeared  as  a  public  orator.  In  346  B.C.  he  was 
one  of  the  ten  ambassadors,  among  whom  was 
Demosthenes,  who  were  sent  by  the  Athenians  to 
neg^otiate  a  peace  with  Philip  of  Macedon.  -<^schi- 
nes  favored  the  alliance  with  Philip,  and  zealously 
opposed  the  policy  advocated  by  Demosthenes. 
In  338  B.C.  -^schines,  after  the  battle  of  Chseronea, 
an  Athenian,  named  Ctesiphon,  proposed  that  the 
State  should  bestow  the  honor  of  a  golden  crown 
upon  Demosthenes,  ^schines  brought  a  charge 
against  Ctesiphon  of  having  introduced  an  illegal 
measure  into  the  assemblage.  The  case  was  not 
brought  to  trial  until  six  years  after,  when  Philip 
was  dead.  The  action,  though  nominally  against 
Ctesiphon,  was  really  an  impeachment  of  Demos- 
thenes. The  oration  of  Demosthenes  On  the  Crown^ 
in  reply  to  -^schines,  is  one  of  his  most  famous 
productions.  Ctesiphon,  or,  rather,  Demosthenes, 
was  acquitted,  and  ^schines  was  mulcted  in  a 
heavy  fine  for  having  brought  forward  a  factious 
resolution.     He  was  unable   to  pay  the  fine,  and 

went  to  the  island  of  Samos,  where  he   taught 

(168) 


MSCHINES  169 

oratory  with  great  success.  Only  three  of  his 
orations  are  extant ;  one  on  his  Embassy,  one 
against  Timarchus,  and  the  one  against  Ctesiphon. 
These  orations  are  distinguished  by  a  happy  flow 
of  words,  by  an  abundance  and  clearness  of  ideas, 
and  by  an  air  of  great  ease,  which  arose  less  from 
art  than  nature. 

AGAINST    CTESIPHON. 

yrhe  Exordium^  You  see,  Athenians,  what  forces  are 
prepared,  what  numbers  are  formed,  and  arrayed,  what 
soliciting  through  the  Assembly,  by  a  certain  party ; 
and  all  this  to  oppose  the  fair  and  ordinary  course  of 
justice  in  the  State.  As  to  me,  I  stand  in  firm  reliance, 
first,  on  the  Immortal  Gods  ;  next  on  the  Laws  and 
you,  convinced  that  Faction  never  can  have  greater 
weight  with  you  than  Law  and  Justice.  .  .  .  Let  it  also 
be  remembered  that  the  whole  body  of  our  citizens 
hath  now  committed  their  State,their  Liberties  into  your 
hands.  Some  of  them  are  present  waiting  the  event  of 
this  trial ;  others  are  called  away  to  attend  on  their  pri- 
vate affairs.  Show  the  due  reverence  to  these ;  re- 
member your  oaths  and  your  laws  ;  and  if  we  convict 
Ctesiphon  of  having  proposed  decrees,  illegal,  false,  and 
detrimental  to  the  State,  reverse  these  illegal  decrees, 
assert  the  freedom  of  your  Constitution,  and  punish 
those  who  have  administered  your  affairs  in  opposition 
to  your  Laws,  in  contempt  of  your  Constitution,  and 
in  total  disregard  of  your  interests.  If  with  these  sen- 
timents impressed  on  your  minds,  you  attend  to  what  is 
now  to  be  proposed,  you  must,  I  am  convinced,  proceed 
to  a  decision  just  and  religious — a  decision  of  the  ut- 
most advantage  to  yourselves  and  to  the  State.  As  to 
the  general  nature  of  this  prosecution,  thus  far  have  I 
premised,  and  I  trust,  without  offence.  Let  me  now  re- 
quest your  attention  to  a  few  words  about  the  laws  rel- 
ative to  persons  accountable  to  the  Public,  which  have 
been  violated  by  the  decree  proposed  by  Ctesiphon.  .  .  . 

\The  Peroration?^  And  now  bear  witness  for  me,  thou 


Z70 


jESCHINES 


Earth,  thou  Sun  ;  O  Virtue  and  Intelligence,  and  thou, 
O  Erudition,  which  teacheth  us  the  just  distinction  be- 
tween Vice  and  Virtue,  I  have  stood  up,  I  have  spoken 
in  the  cause  of  Justice.  I  have  supported  my  prosecu- 
tion with  a  dignity  befitting  its  importance.  I  have 
spoken  as  my  wishes  dictated  ;  if  too  deficiently,  as  my 
abilities  admitted.  Let  what  hath  now  been  offered, 
and  what  your  own  thoughts  must  supply,  be  duly 
weighed  ;  and  do  you  pronounce  such  a  sentence  as 
justice  and  the  interests  of  the  State  demand. — Transla- 
tion of  Leland. 


mm 


yESCHYLUS,  the  earliest  of  the  three  great 
Greek  tragic  poets,  born  at  Eleusis,  525  B.C.;  died 
at  Gela,  in  Sicily,  456  B.C.  He  was  of  a  noble 
family,  tracing  its  descent  from  Codrus,  the  last 
King  of  Athens.  His  first  attempt  as  a  tragic 
poet  was  made  at  the  age  of  twenty-five.  He  sub- 
sequently distinguished  himself  as  a  soldier,  being 
present  at  the  battles  of  Marathon,  Salamis,  and 
Plataea.  He  gained  his  first  tragic  prize  at  an 
early  age,  and  subsequently  another  for  a  "  tril- 
ogy "  or  series  of  three  dramas  presented  consec- 
utively at  a  single  representation.  One  of  these 
was  the  Persiaiis^  which  is  still  extant.  He  gained 
in  all  thirteen  prizes  for  tragedy  ;  but  when  he 
was  fifty-seven  years  of  age,  he  was  defeated  for 
the  prize  by  Sophocles.  He  soon  after  left 
Athens  and  took  up  his  residence  in  Sicily,  be- 
cause, as  is  said  by  some,  he  had  suffered  this  de- 
feat by  Sophocles;  but  according  to  others,  the 
reason  was  that  he  was  charged  with  impiety  in 
having  divulged  the  Eleusinian  mysteries  into 
which  he  had  been  initiated.  A  legend  of  very 
doubtful  autlienticity  states  that  he  was  killed  by 
a  tortoise  which  an  eagle  let  fall  upon  the  bald 
head  of  the  poet,  which  he  mistook  for  a  stone, 
^schylus  is  said  to  have  been  the  author  of 
seventy  dramas,  of  which  all  but  five  were  trag- 
edies.    Of  these,  seven  are  extant  entire,  and  there 

C171) 


172  ^SCHYLUS 

are  fragments  of  several  others  preserved  in  quo- 
tations by  various  authors.  The  extant  dramas 
are :  the  Seven  Against  Thebes,  the  Suppliants,  the 
Persians,  the  Prometheus  Bound,  the  Agamemnon, 
the  Libation-bearers,  and  the  Euniejiides.  ^schy- 
lus  is  the  grandest  of  the  Attic  tragic  poets.  His 
artistic  creed  is  that  there  is  a  blind,  overruling, 
omnipresent,  inevitable  Fate,  or  Necessity,  against 
which  neither  gods  nor  men  can  contend  success^ 
fully,  and  from  which  they  cannot  escape  ;  and  yet 
it  is  the  glory  and  the  duty  of  the  great  good  man 
to  struggle  to  the  end  with  undaunted  resolution. 
Running  all  through  his  dramas  is  the  idea  of 
"  ancestral  guilt,  continually  reproducing  itself  and 
continually  punished  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion; of  hapless  kindred  criminals,  who  would 
not  be  such  if  they  could  avoid  it ;  but  who  are 
goaded  on  to  the  commission  of  ever  new  atroci- 
ties by  the  hereditary  curse  of  their  doomed 
race  ;  predestined  murderers,  adulterers,  and  par- 
acides,  inextricably  involved  in  the  dark  net  of 
Necessity." 

THE    BINDING    OF   PROMETHEUS. 

[Prometheus  is  led  in  by  Heph^stos  and  others :  Heph- 
.(ESTOS  Speaks  .•] 

0  thou,  Themis,  wise  in  Counsel,  son, 
Full  of  deep  purpose,  lo  !  against  my  will, 

1  fetter  thee  against  thy  will  with  bonds 

Of  bronze  that  none  can  loose,  to  this  lone  height. 
Where  thou  shalt  know  nor  voice  nor  face  of  man. 
But  scorching  in  the  hot  blaze  of  the  Sun, 
Shalt  lose  thy  skin's  fair  beauty.     Thou  shalt  long 
For  starry-mantled  night  to  hide  day's  sheen, 


^SCHYLUS  173 

For  sun  to  melt  the  rime  of  early  dawn  ; 

And  evermore  the  weight  of  present  ill 

Shall  wear  thee  down.     Unborn  as  yet  is  he 

Who  shall  release  thee  :  this  the  fate  thou  gain'st 

As  due  reward  for  thy  philanthropy. 

For  thou,  a  god,  not  fearing  wrath  of  gods, 

In  thy  transgression  gav'st  their  power  to  men  ; 

And  therefore  on  this  rock  of  little  ease 

Thou  shalt  keep  thy  watch,  nor  lying  down, 

Nor  knowing  sleep,  nor  even  bending  knee  ; 

And  many  groans  and  wailing  profitless 

Thy  lips  shall  utter  ;  for  the  mind  of  Zeus 

Remains  inexorable.     Who  holds  a  power 

But  newly  gained  is  ever  stern  of  mood. 

— Prometheus  Bound,  Translation  of  Plumptre. 


THE    SOLILOQUY    OF    PROMETHEUS. 

O  divine  aether,  and  ye  swift-winged  winds,  and  ye 
fountains  of  rivers,  and  countless  dimplings  of  the  waves 
of  the  deep  !  and  thou  Earth,  mother  of  all,  and  to  the 
all-seeing  orb  of  the  Sun,  I  appeal  !  Look  upon  me, 
what  treatment  I,  a  god,  am  enduring  at  the  hand  of 
the  gods  !  Behold  with  what  indignities  mangled  I 
shall  have  to  wrestle  through  time  of  years  innumer- 
able. Such  an  ignominious  bondage  hath  the  new  ruler 
of  the  immortals  devised  against  me.  Alas !  alas  !  I 
sigh  over  the  present  suffering,  and  that  which  is  com- 
ing on.  How,  where,  must  a  termination  of  these  toils 
arise?  And  yet  what  is  it  I  am  saying?  I  know  be- 
forehand all  futurity  exactly,  and  no  suffering  will  come 
upon  me  unlooked  for.  But  I  needs  must  bear  my  doom 
as  easily  as  may  be,  knowing,  as  I  do,  that  the  might  of 
Necessity  cannot  be  resisted.  But  it  is  not  possible  for 
me  either  to  hold  my  peace,  or  not  to  hold  my  peace, 
touching  these  my  fortunes.  For  having  bestowed 
boons  upon  mortals,  I  am  enthralled  unhappily  in  these 
hardships.  And  I  am  he  that  hath  searched  out  the 
source  of  fire,  by  stealth  borne  off  enclosed  in  a  fennel- 
stalk,  which  hath  shown  itself  a  teacher  of  every  art  to 
mortals,  and  a  great  resource.     Such  then  as  this  is  the 


174  MSCHYLUS 

vengeance  that  I  endure  for  my  trespasses,  being  riveted 
In  fetters  beneath  the  naked  sky. — Prometheus  Bound^ 
Literal  Translation  of  Buckley. 


THE  WARNING  OF  HERMES  TO  PROMETHEUS. 

I  have,  methinks,  said  much  in  vain ; 
For  still  thy  heart,  beneath  my  shower  of  prayers, 
Lies  dry  and  hard — nay,  leaps  like  a  young  horse 
Who  bites  against  the  new  bit  in  his  teeth, 
And  tugs  and  struggles  against  the  new-tried  rein- 
Still  fiercest  in  the  feeblest  thing  of  all — 
Which  sophism  is,  since  absolute  Will  disjoined 
From  perfect  Mind  is  worse  than  weak.     Behold, 
Unless  my  words  persuade  thee,  what  a  blast 
And  whirlwind  of  inevitable  woe 
Must  sweep  persuasion  through  thee  !     For  at  first 
The  Father  will  split  up  this  jut  of  rock 
With  the  great  th.under  and  the  bolted  flame, 
And  hide  thy  body  where  a  hinge  of  stone 
Shall  catch  it  like  an  arm  ;  and  when  thou  hast  passed 
A  long  black  time  within,  thou  shalt  come  out 
To  front  the  sun  while  Zeus's  winged  hound. 
The  strong  carnivorous  eagle,  shall  wheel  down 
To  meet  thee,  self-called  to  a  daily  feast. 
And  set  his  fierce  beak  in  thee,  and  tear  off 
The  long  rags  of  thy  flesh,  and  batten  deep 
Upon  thy  dusky  liver.     Do  not  look 
For  any  end  moreover  to  this  curse. 
Or  ere  some  good  appear,  to  accept  thy  pangs 
On  his  own  head  vicarious,  and  descend 
With  unreluctant  step  the  darks  of  hell 
And  gloomy  abysses  around  Tartarus. 
Then  ponder  this  ! — this  threat  is  not  a  growth 
Of  vain  invention;  it  is  spoken  and  meant ! 
King  Zeus's  mouth  is  impotent  to  lie 
Consummating  the  utterance  by  the  act : — 
So,  look  to  it,  thou  ! — take  heed — and  nevermore 
Forget  good  counsel  to  indulge  self-will. 

— Prometheus  Bound,  Translation  of  Y^ui.k'B'S.th  B.ir- 
RETT  Browning. 


MSCHYLUS  175 


THE    BEACON-LIGHTS. 

Hephaistos — sending  a  bright  blaze  from  Idfe, 

Beacon  did  beacon  send,  from  fire  the  poster, 

Hitherward  :  Ide  to  the  rock  Hermaian 

Of  Lemnos  ;  and  a  third  great  torch  o'  the  island 

Zeus's  seat  received  in  turn,  the  Athoan  summit. 

And — so  upsoaring  as  to  stride  sea  over. 

The  strong  lamp-voyager,  and  all  for  joyance — 

Did  the  gold-glorious  splendor,  any  sun  like. 

Pass  on — the  pine-tree — to  Makistos's  watch-place  ; 

Who  did  not — tardy — caught,  no  wits  about  him, 

By  sleep — decline  his  portion  of  the  missive 

And  far  the  beacon's  light,  in  stream  Euripos 

Arriving,  made  aware  Messapios's  warders, 

And  up  they  lit  in  turn,  played  herald  onward, 

Kindling  with  flame  a  heap  of  gray  old  heather, 

And  strengthening  still,  the  lamp,  decaying  nowise^ 

Springing  o'er  Plain  Asopos — full-moon  fashion. 

Effulgent — toward  the  crag  of  Mount  Kithairon, 

Roused  a  new  rendering-up  of  fire  the  escort — 

And  light — far  escort,  lacked  no  recognition 

O'  the  guard — as  burning  more  than  burnings  told  you. 

And  over  Lake  Gorgopis  light  went  leaping, 

And  at  Mount  Aigiplanktos  safe  arriving. 

Enforced  the  law — "  to  never  stint  the  fire-stuff." 

And  they  send,  lighting  up  with  ungrudged  vigor, 

Of  flame  a  huge  beard,  ay,  the  very  foreland, 

So  as  to  strike  above,  in  burning  onward. 

The  look-out  which  commands  the  Strait  Saronic. 

Then  did  it  dart  until  it  reached  the  outpost, 

Mount  Arachnaios  here,  the  city's  neighbor : 

And  then  darts  to  this  roof  of  the  Atreidai 

This  light  of  Ide's  fire  not  unforefathered  ! 

Such  are  the  rules  prescribed  the  flambeau-bearer ; 

He  beats  that's  first  and  also  last  in  running. 

Such  is  the  proof  and  token  I  declare  thee. 

My  husband  having  sent  me  news  from  Troia  : 

Troia  do  tlie  Achaioi  hold  this  same  day. 

— Agamnnnon^  TransJation  of  Robert  Browning. 


176  MSCHYLUS 


THE   DOOM    OF   CLYT^MNESTRA. 

[T^CLYTiEMNESTRA  i?«^'<?/' Orestes,  her  son,  and Fylabes: 
the  Chorus  of  Captive  lVofne?i  is  also  present.'] 

Orest. — 'Tis  thee  I  seek  ;  he  there  has  had  enough. 
Clyt. — Ah  me  !  my  loved  ^gisthos  !    Art  thou  dead  ? 
Orest. — Loved  thou  the  man  ?    Then  on  the  self-same 
tomb 
Shalt  thou  now  lie,  nor  in  his  death  desert  him. 

Clyt.    (Baring  her  boso?n.) — Hold,   boy !  respect  this 
breast  of  mine, 
Whence  thou,  my  son,  full  oft,  asleep,  with  toothless 

gums. 
Hast  sucked  the  milk  that  sweetly  fed  thy  life. 

Orest. — What  shall  I  do,  my  Pylades  ?  Shall  I 
Through  this  respect  forbear  to  slay  my  mother? 

Pylad. — Where  then  are  Loxia's  other  oracles. 
The  Pythian  counsels,  and  the  fast-sworn  vows  ? 
Have  all  men  hostile  rather  than  the  gods. 

Orest. — My  judgment  goes  with  thine  ;  thou  speakest 
well. 
\To  Clytcemnesira.]  Follow  ;  I  mean  to  slay  thee  where 

he  lies. 
For  while  he  lived  thou  held'st  him  far  above 
My  father.     Sleep  thou  with  him  in  thy  death. 
Since  thou  lov'st  him,  and  whom  thou  should'st  love 
hatest. 
Clyt. — I  reared  thee,  and  would  fain  grow  old  with 

thee. 
Orest. — What !  thou  live  with  me,  who  did'st  slay  my 

father ! 
Clyt. — Fate,  O  my  son  !  must  share  the  blame  of  that. 
Orest. — This  fatal  doom,  then,  it  is  Fate  that  sends. 
Clyt. — Dost  thou  not  fear  a  parent's  curse,  my  son  ? 
Orest. — Thou,  though  my  mother,  did'st  to  ill  chance 

cast  me. 
Clyt. — No  outcast  thou,  so  sent  to  house  allied. 
Orest. — I  was  sold  doubly,  though  of  free  sire  born. 
Clyt. — Where  is  the  price,  then,  that  I  got  for  thee  ? 
Orest. — I  shrink  for  shame  from  pressing  that  charge 
home. 


AiSCrfYLUS  177 

Clyt. — Nay,  tell  thy  father's  wantonness  as  well. 

Orest. — Blame  not  the  man  that  toils  when  thou'rt  at 
ease. 

Clyt. — 'Tis  hard,  my  son,  for  wives  to  miss  their  hus- 
bands. 

Orest. — The   husband's    toil    keeps    her  that  sits  at 
home. 

Clyt. — Thou  seem'st,  my  son,  about  to  slay  thy  mother  \ 

Orest. — It  is  not  I  that  slay  thee,  but  thyself. 

Clyt. — Take  heed,  beware  a  mother's  vengeful  hounds. 

Orest. — How,  slighting  this,  shall  I  escape  my  father's? 

Clyt. — I  seem,  in  life,  to  wail  as  to  a  tomb. 

Orest. — My  father's  fate  ordains  this  doom  for  thee. 

Clyt. — Ah  me  !  the  snake  is  here  I  bore  and  nursed. 

Orest. — An  o'er-true  prophet  was  that  dread,  dream- 
born. 
Thou  slewest  one  thou  never  should'st  have  slain  ; 
Now  suffer  fate  should  never  have  been  thine. 

\Exit  Orestes,  leading  Clyt;emnestra  into  the  palace, 
and  followed  by  Pylades. — The  Chorus  sing  respon- 
sive ly  ;] 

I. 

Late  came  due  vengeance  on  the  sons  of  Priam  ; 

Just  forfeit  of  sore  woe  ; — 
Late  came  there,  too,  to  Agamemnon's  house 

Twin  lions,  twofold  Death. 
The  exile  who  obeyed  the  Pythian  best 

Hath  gained  his  full  desire. 
Sped  on  his  way  by  counsel  of  the  Gods. 


III. 
And  so  on  one  who  loves  the  war  of  guile 

Revenge  came  subtle-souled  ; 
And  in  the  strife  of  hands  the  Child  of  Zeus 

In  very  deed  gave  help. 
(We  mortals  call  her  Vengeance,  hitting  well 

The  meetest  name  for  her,) 
Breathing  destroying  wrath  against  her  foes. 
Vol.  I. — 12 


I7S 


AiSCHYLUS 


IV. 

She  it  is  whom  Loxia  summons  now, 
Who  dwelleth  in  Parnassia's  cavern  vast, 

Calling  on  Fler  who  still 

Is  guileful  without  guile, 
Halting  of  foot,  and  tarrying  over-long : 
The  will  of  Gods  is  strangely  overruled  ; 

It  may  not  help  the  vile  ; 
*Tis  meet  to  adore  the  Power  that  rules  in  Heaven 

At  last  we  see  the  Light. 
— The  Libation-bearers^  Translation  of  Plumptre. 


JESOP,  a  fabulist,  said  to  have  been  born  in 
Phrygia,  about  620  B.C.  It  is  said  that  he  was 
brought  to  Athens  while  young  and  sold  as  a 
slave  to  ladmon,  of  Samos,  who  gave  him  his  free- 
dom. Croesus,  King  of  Lydia,  subsequently  in- 
vited him  to  his  court  and  employed  him  in  posi- 
tions of  trust,  finally  making  him  Ambassador  at 
Delphi,  where  he  was  charged  with  sacrilege  and 
was  put  to  death  by  being  thrown  from  a  precipice. 
He  visited  Athens  during  the  sovereignty  of  Pi- 
sistratus,  where  he  wrote  the  fable  of  Jupiter  and 
the  Frogs.  Plis  genuine  works  are  supposed  to 
have  perished,  the  collection  of  fables  which  goes 
under  his  name  being  either  imitations  or  entirely 
spurious  productions  of  a  later  age.  So  great, 
however,  was  his  reputation  that  a  statue  of  him 
was  executed  by  the  famous  sculptor  Lysippus. 
The  current  story  that  he  was  a  misshapen  dwarf 
is  wholly  fictitious.  He  stands,  therefore,  as  a 
representative  of  a  class  of  writers,  rather  than  as 
a  distinct  individual. 

JUPITER    AND    THE    FROGS. 

The  Frogs,  grieved  at  having  no  established  ruler, 
sent  ambassadors  to  Jupiter,  entreating  for  a  King. 
He,  perceiving  their  simplicity,  cast  down  a  huge  log 
into  the  pond.  The  Frogs,  terrified  at  the  splash 
occasioned  by  its  fall,  hid  themselves  in  the  depths  of 
the  pool.     But  no  sooner  did   they  perceive   that  the 

C179) 


i8o  ^SOP 

log  continued  motionless  than  they  swam  again  to  the 
top  of  the  water,  dismissed  their  fears,  and  came  so  to 
despise  it  as  to  climb  up  and  squat  upon  it.  After 
some  time  they  began  to  think  themselves  ill-treated  in 
the  appointment  of  so  inert  a  ruler,  and  sent  a  second 
deputation  to  Jupiter  to  pray  that  he  would  set  over 
them  another  sovereign.  He  then  gave  them  an  Eel  to 
govern  them.  When  the  Frogs  discover'id  his  easy 
good-nature,  they  yet  a  third  time  sent  to  jupiterto 
beg  that  he  would  once  more  choose  for  them  another 
King.  Jupiter,  displeased  at  their  complaints,  sent  a 
Heron,  who  preyed  upon  the  Frogs  day  by  day,  till 
there  were  none  left  to  croak  upon  the  pond. — Transla- 
tion ^TOWNSEND. 

THE    TREES    AND    THE    AXE. 

A  man  came  into  the  forest,  and  made  a  petition 
to  the  Trees  to  provide  him  a  handle  for  his  axe. 
The  Trees  consented  to  his  request,  and  gave  him  a 
young  ash-tree.  No  sooner  had  the  man  fitted  from  it 
a  new  handle  to  his  axe  than  he  began  to  use  it,  and 
quickly  felled  with  his  strokes  the  noblest  giants  of  the 
forest.  An  old  Oak,  lamenting  when  too  late  the  de- 
struction of  his  companions,  said  to  a  neighboring 
Cedar  :  "The  first  step  has  lost  us  all.  If  we  had  not 
given  up  the  rights  of  the  Ash,  we  might  yet  have  re- 
tained our  own  privileges,  and  have  stood  for  ages." — 
Translation  d?/  Town  send. 

THE    OLD    MAN    AND   DEATH. 

An  Old  Man  that  had  travelled  a  long  way  with  a 
great  bundle  of  fagots,  found  himself  so  weary  that  he 
flung  it  down,  and  called  upon  Death  to  deliver  him 
from  his  most  miserable  existence.  Death  came 
straightway  at  his  call  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 
"Pray,  good  Sir,"  said  the  Old  Man,  "just  do  me  the 
favor  to  help  me  up  with  my  bundle  of  fagots." — Trans- 
lation of  James, 


^SOP  i8i 


THE   BIRDS,    THE    BEASTS,    AND    THE    BAT. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  fierce  war  between  the 
Birds  and  the  Beasts.  For  a  long  time  the  issue  of  the 
contest  was  uncertain,  and  the  Bat,  taking  advantage 
of  his  ambiguous  nature — part  Bird  and  part  Beast — 
kept  aloof,  and  remained  neutral.  At  length,  when  the 
Beasts  seemed  to  be  getting  the  better  of  it,  the  Bat 
joined  their  forces,  and  appeared  active  in  the  fight ; 
but  a  rally  being  made  by  the  Birds,  which  proved  suc- 
cessful, the  Bat  was  found  at  the  end  of  the  day  among 
the  ranks  of  the  winning  party.  A  peace  being  speed- 
ily concluded,  the  Bat's  conduct  was  condemned  alike 
by  both  parties  ;  and,  being  acknowledged  by  neither, 
and  so  excluded  iDy  the  terms  of  the  truce,  he  was  obliged 
to  skulk  off  as  best  he  could  ;  and  has  ever  since  lived 
in  holes  and  corners,  never  daring  to  show  his  face  ex- 
cept in  the  darkness  of  twilight. — Translation  of  James. 

THE   BELLY  AND   THE   OTHER   MEMBERS. 

In  former  days,  when  all  a  man's  limbs  did  not  work 
together  as  amicably  as  they  do  now,  but  each  had  a 
will  and  a  way  of  its  own,  the  Members  began  to  find 
fault  with  the  Belly  for  spending  an  idle,  luxurious  life, 
while  they  were  wholly  occupied  in  laboring  for  its  sup- 
port, and  ministering  to  its  wants  and  pleasures.  So 
they  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  cut  off  its  supplies 
for  the  future.  The  Hands  were  no  longer  to  carry 
any  food  to  the  mouth,  nor  the  Mouth  to  receive  the 
food,  nor  the  Teeth  to  chew  it.  They  had  not  long 
persisted  in  this  course  of  starving  the  Belly  into  sub- 
jection, ere  they  all  began,  one  by  one,  to  fail  and  flag, 
and  the  whole  Body  to  pine  away.  Then  the  Members 
were  convinced  that  the  Belly  also — cumbersome  and 
useless  as  it  seemed — had  an  important  function  of  its 
own ;  that  they  could  no  more  do  without  it,  than  it 
could  do  without  them  ;  and  that  if  they  would  have  the 
constitution  of  the  Body  in  a  healthy  state,  they  must 
work  together,  each  in  his  proper  sphere,  for  the  com- 
mon good  of  alL — Translation  of  James. 


iSa  ^SOP 


THE    FOX    AND    THE    HEDGEHOG. 

A  Fox,  swimming  across  a  very  rapid  river,  was  car- 
ried by  the  force  of  the  current  into  a  deep  ravine, 
where  he  lay  for  a  long  time  very  much  bruised  and 
sick,  and  unable  to  move.  A  swarm  of  hungry,  blood- 
sucking Flies  settled  upon  him.  A  Hedgehog,  passing 
by,  compassionated  his  sufferings,  and  inquired  if  he 
should  drive  away  the  Flies  that  were  tormenting  him. 
**  By  no  means,"  replied  the  Fox  ;  "  pray  do  not  molest 
them." — "  How  is  that  ?"  said  the  Hedgehog  ;  "  do  you 
not  want  to  be  rid  of  them?" — "No,"  returned  the 
Fox;  "for  these  Flies  which  you  see  are  full  of  blood, 
and  sting  me  but  little ;  and  if  you  rid  me  of  these 
which  are  already  satiated,  others  more  hungry  will 
come  in  their  place,  and  will  drink  up  all  the  blood  I 
have  left." — Translation  of  Townsend. 

THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  ARROW. 

An  Eagle  sat  on  a  lofty  rock,  watching  the  movements 
of  a  Hare  whom  he  sought  to  make  his  prey.  An 
Archer,  who  saw  him  from  a  place  of  concealment,  took 
an  accurate  aim,  and  wounded  him  mortally.  The  Eagle 
gave  one  look  at  the  arrow  that  had  entered  his  heart, 
and  saw  in  that  single  glance  that  its  feathers  had  been 
furnished  by  himself.  "  It  is  a  double  grief  to  me," 
he  exclaimed,  "  that  I  should  perish  by  an  arrow  feath- 
ered from  my  own  wings!" — Translation  of  Town- 
send. 

THE   OAK    and    THE    WOOD-CUTTERS. 

The  Wood-cutters  cut  down  a  Mountain  Oak,  split  it 
in  pieces,  making  wedges  of  its  own  branches  for  divid- 
ing the  trunk,  and  for  saving  of  their  labor.  The  Oak 
said,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  do  not  care  about  the  blows  of  the 
axe  aimed  at  my  roots  ;  but  I  do  grieve  at  being  torn  in 
pieces  by  these  wedges  made  from  my  own  branches." 
■ — Translation  c?/Townsend- 


/ESOP  183 


THE   WOLF   AND   THE   LAMB. 

As  a  Wolf  was  lapping  at  the  head  of  a  running  brook, 
he  spied  a  stray  Lamb  paddling  at  some  distance  down 
the  stream.  Having  made  up  his  mind  to  seize  her,  he 
bethought  himself  how  he  might  justify  his  violence. 
"Villain!"  said  he,  running  up  to  her,  "how  dare  you 
muddle  the  water  that  I  am  drinking  ? " — "  Indeed,"  said 
the  Lamb,  humbly,  "  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  disturb  the 
water,  since  it  runs  from  you  to  me,  not  from  me  to 
you." — "Be  that  as  it  may,"  replied  the  Wolf,  "it  was 
but  a  year  ago  that  you  called  me  many  ill  names." — 
"Oh,  Sir,"  said  the  Lamb,  trembling,  "a  year  ago  I  was 
not  born." — "  Well,"  replied  the  Wolf,  "  if  it  was  not 
you,  it  was  your  father,  and  that  is  all  the  same  ;  but  it 
is  no  use  trying  to  argue  me  out  of  my  supper."  And 
without  another  word  he  fell  upon  the  poor  helpless 
Lamb,  and  tore  her  to  pieces. — Translation  of  James. 

THE   SHEPHERD-BOY   AND   THE  WOLF. 

A  Shepherd-boy,  who  tended  his  flock  not  far  from  a 
village,  used  to  amuse  himself  at  times  in  crying  out 
"  Wolf  !  "  Twice  or  thrice  his  trick  succeeded.  The 
whole  village  came  running  out  to  his  assistance  ;  and 
all  the  return  they  got  was  to  be  laughed  at  for  their 
pains.  At  last,  one  day  the  Wolf  came  indeed  ;  and  the 
Boy  cried  out  in  earnest.  But  the  neighbors,  suppos- 
ing him  to  be  at  his  old  sport,  paid  no  heed  to  his  cries, 
and  the  Wolf  devoured  the  sheep.  So  the  Boy  learned, 
when  it  was  too  late,  that  Liars  are  not  believed  even 
when  they  tell  the  truth. — Translation  0/  ]aues. 

THE   BUNDLE  OF  STICKS. 

A  Husbandman  who  had  a  quarrelsome  family,  after 
having  tried  in  vain  to  reconcile  them  by  words,  thought 
he  might  more  readily  prevail  by  an  example.  So  he 
called  his  sons  and  bade  them  lay  a  bundle  of  sticks  be- 
fore him.  Then  having  tied  them  up  into  a  fagot,  he  told 
the  lads,  one  after  another,  to  take  it  up  and  break  it. 
They  all  tried,  but  tried  in  vain.      Then,  untying  the 


l84  ^SOP 

fagot,  he  gave  them  the  sticks  to  break  one  by  one. 
This  they  did  with  the  greatest  ease.  Then  said  the 
father  :  "Thus,  my  sons,  as  long  as  you  remain  united, 
you  are  a  match  for  all  your  enemies  ;  but  differ  and 
separate,  and  you  are  undone." — Traiulation  of  James. 


AGASSIZ,  Jean  Louis  Rodolphe,  a  celebrat- 
ed Swiss-American  naturalist  and  author,  born  at 
Motier,  Switzerland,  May  28,  1807;  died  at  Cam* 
bridge,  Mass.,  December  14,  1873.  Before  coming 
to  America,  in  1846,  he  had  distinguished  himsell 
by  his  researches  in  various  departments  of  natural 
history  and  science,  notably  by  his  great  works, 
written  in  French,  upon  Fossil  Fishes  and  upon  the 
Glaciers  of  the  Alps.  Toward  the  close  of  1847 
the  Scientific  School  at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  was 
founded  by  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence,  and  Agassiz 
accepted  the  position  of  Professor  of  Zoology  and 
Geology  in  the  new  institution.  He  subsequently, 
for  a  short  time,  held  the  chair  of  Comparative 
Anatomy  in  the  Medical  College  at  Charleston, 
S.  C,  and  in  1868  was  appointed  a  non-resident 
professor  in  Cornell  University,  at  Ithaca,  N.  Y. 
His  services  in  various  departments  of  natural 
history,  both  as  an  original  observer  and  investi- 
gator, and  as  a  lecturer  and  author,  were  un 
equalled  by  those  of  any  other  man  who  ever 
lived ;  and  from  time  to  time  he  made  long  jour- 
neys and  voyages  for  investigation  and  research. 
These  travels,  included  the  whole  country  from 
Lake  Superior  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  from 
the  Atlantic  Coast  to  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi. 
In  1865  he  f.ook  charge  of  a  scientific  expedition, 
most  liberally  provided  for  by  a  merchant  of  Bos- 


l86  JEAN"  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  ACASSIZ 

ton,  to  explore  the  waters  of  Brazil.  A  narrative 
of  this  expedition  was  published,  written  mainly 
by  Mrs.  Agassiz.  He  subsequently  made  a  scien- 
tific excursion  to  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  in  De- 
cember, 1871,  accompanied  by  several  other  men 
of  science,  he  set  out  on  a  voyage  around  Cape 
Horn,  in  the  United  States  Coast  Survey  steamer 
Hassler.  The  results  of  this  voyage,  undertaken 
for  deep-sea  dredging,  were  of  great  importance 
in  the  study  of  oceanic  faunae. — The  influence  of 
Agassiz  upon  the  scientific  development  of  the 
United  States  was  profound  and  far-reaching. 
Joined  with  his  great  scientific  ability,  he  had  the 
faculty  of  communicating  the  results  of  his  inves- 
tigations, and  propounding  his  theories,  in  an  at- 
tractive form.  He  therefore  deservedly  holds  a 
high  place  not  only  in  science,  but  also  in  litera- 
ture. 

THE   GROWTH  OF   CORAL  REEFS. 

A  coral  reef  is  a  structure  built  up  from  a  definite 
depth  successively  and  gradually,  not  by  one  kind  of 
coral,  but  by  a  great  variety  of  kinds  combining  to- 
gether, and  forming  by  their  joint  work  a  wall  which, 
from  a  given  depth,  may  end  in  reaching  the  surface  of 
the  water.  And  while  it  is  growing,  this  wall  is  all  the 
time  changing  its  builders.  It  is  not  one  kind  that  com- 
mences and  completes  the  structure  to  the  summit. 
One  kind  does  a  part  of  the  work,  and  then  ceases  ; 
another  kind  comes  in  and  continues  the  work  for  a  while, 
and  ceases  in  its  turn  ;  and  so  on  till  it  is  completed. 
Here  we  have  a  slanting  shore  ;  suppose  at  six  hundred 
feet  distance  from  the  shore  the  depth  is  ten  or  twelve 
fathoms.  It  will  be  a  favorable  level  for  the  formation 
of  a  succession  of  reefs  ;  for  the  animals  which  begin  to 
work  live  at  that  depth.     They  commence  building  a 


JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AGASSIZ  187 

wall  in  that  form  :  steep  toward  the  ocean,  slanting 
gently  toward  the  shore,  rising  in  the  end  to  the  level 
of  the  water.  The  steepness  of  the  outward  wall,  and 
the  gentle  sloping  toward  the  land,  are  the  result  of 
those  footering  influences  which  accelerate  the  growth 
of  the  reef  under  conditions  which  are  most  favorable 
to  the  development  of  different  corals.  .  .  . 

But  one  thing  must  be  remembered  :  The  Radiates 
which  begin  the  reef,  after  building  it  up  to  a  certain 
height,  necessarily  create  conditions  that  are  unfavor- 
able to  their  growth.  The  condition  of  the  water  in- 
side, toward  the  land,  is  so  altered  that  the  first  set  of 
corals  can  no  longer  prosper  there.  The  space  inside 
becomes  almost  an  inland  pool,  even  though  the  water 
washes  over  the  top  of  the  reef.  And  now  another 
kind  of  coral  sets  in,  and  begins  to  build.  The  work 
goes  on,  but  not  so  rapidly,  perhaps,  as  before.  The 
first  set  stop  at  a  certain  height,  the  second  set  carry 
it  up  higher  toward  the  surface.  The  second  set  are 
more  hardy,  and  require  less  of  the  immediate  action  of 
the  sea  to  sustain  their  growth.  But  there  are  still 
other  kinds  which  never  build  the  reef  itself ;  namely, 
those  which  grow  under  its  shelter.  They  maybe  com- 
pared to  the  underbrush  of  the  forest,  which  does  not 
begin  until  the  forest  trees  have  reached  a  certain 
height.  So  we  have  the  reef-builders  and  the  under- 
brush. And  then  a  third  set  of  reef-builders  may  come 
in,  and  bring  it  up  to  the  surface  of  the  water  ;  and 
after  they  have  grown,  the  underbrush  fills  up  the  bottom 
toward  the  land. 

Now  comes  a  question  which,  for  a  length  of  time, 
was  one  of  the  most  perplexing  in  the  study  of  these 
animals  :  Having  ascertained  that  different  portions  of 
the  reef,  at  different  depths,  are  built  by  different  spe- 
cies, and  that  all  these  corals  are  immovably  attached 
to  each  other,  the  question  arises,  whence  did  these 
new  corals  come  which  have  built  up  the  later  portions 
of  the  reef?  On  examining  these  animals  we  find, 
along  the  portions  which  divide  the  internal  cavity, 
bunches  of  eggs.  They  have  long  been  known  as 
such.  But  what  was  not  known  is  the  fact  that  the 
young  which  are  hatched  from  these   eggs   are  free, 


i88  JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AGASSIZ 

and  swim  in  the  water.  They  are  little  pear-shaped 
bodies  surrounded  with  innumerable  fringes  which  keep 
them  revolving  in  the  water.  They  move  about  at  will 
until  they  find  a  proper  resting-place,  where  they  fix 
themselves  and  grow.  Whenever  there  is  a  reef  which 
has  grown  up  to  the  level — say,  of  six  fathoms — where 
the  second  set  of  corals  come  in,  there  will  be  found 
these  little  floating  animals,  which  subsequently  attach 
themselves  to  the  reef  at  their  proper  level,  and  grow. 
Then  another  set  come  in,  in  the  same  way,  and  so  build 
up  the  reef.  The  succession  of  these  different  species 
of  animals  is  now  readily  explained.  Each  one  of  these 
little  young  animals  undergoes  a  transforaiation  from 
a  free  swimming  body  to  a  polyp. — Graham  Lectures. 

METAMORPHOSES   OF    ANIMALS. 

Under  the  name  of  metamorphoses  are  included  those 
changes  which  the  body  of  an  animal  undergoes  after 
birth,  and  which  are  modifications  in  various  degrees  of 
its  organization,  form,  and  mode  of  life.  Such  changes 
are  not  peculiar  to  certain  classes,  as  has  been  so  long 
supposed,  but  are  common  to  all  animals  without  ex- 
ception. Vegetables  also  undergo  metamorphoses,  but 
with  this  essential  difference,  that  in  vegetables  the 
process  consists  in  an  addition  of  new  parts  to  the  old 
ones.  A  succession  of  leaves  differing  from  those  which 
preceded  them  comes  in  each  season  ;  new  branches 
and  roots  are  added  to  the  old  stem,  and  woody  layers 
to  the  trunk. 

In  animals  the  whole  body  is  transformed,  in  such  a 
manner  that  all  the  existing  parts  contribute  to  the 
formation  of  the  modified  body.  The  chrysalis  becomes 
a  butterfly  ;  the  frog,  after  having  been  herbivorous 
during  its  tadpole  state,  becomes  carnivorous,  and  its 
stomach  is  adapted  to  this  new  mode  of  life  ;  at  the 
same  time  instead  of  breathing  by  gills,  it  becomes  an 
air-breathing  animal;  its  tail  and  gills  disappear,  lungs 
and  legs  are  formed  ;  and  finally  it  lives  and  moves  upon 
the  land. 

The  nature,  the  duration,  and  importance  of  meta- 
morphoses, and  also  the  epoch  at  which  they  take  place, 


JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AGASSI2  i3o 

are  infinitely  varied.  The  most  striking  changes  nat 
urally  presenting  themselves  to  the  mind,  when  we 
speak  of  metamorphoses,  are  those  occurring  in  insects. 
Not  merely  is  there  a  change  of  physiognomy  and  form 
observable,  or  an  organ  more  or  less  formed,  but  their 
whole  organization  is  modified.  The  animal  enters  into 
new  relations  with  the  external  world,  while  at  the 
same  time  new  instincts  are  imparted  to  it.  It  has 
lived  in  water,  and  respired  by  gills  ;  it  is  now  furnished 
with  trachae,  and  breathes  air.  It  passes  by  with  in- 
difference objects  which  were  before  attractive  ;  and  its 
new  instincts  prompt  it  to  seek  conditions  which  would 
have  been  most  pernicious  during  its  former  period  of 
life.  All  these  changes  are  brought  about  without  de- 
stroying the  individuality  of  the  animal.  The  mosqui- 
to, which  to-day  haunts  us  with  its  shrill  trumpet,  and 
pierces  us  for  our  blood,  is  the  same  animal  that  a  few 
days  ago  lived  obscure  and  unregarded  in  stagnant 
water,  under  the  guise  of  a  little  worm.  .  .  . 

The  different  external  forms  which  an  insect  may  as- 
sume is  well  illustrated  by  the  canker-worm.  Its  eggs 
are  laid  upon  posts  and  fences,  or  upon  the  branches  of 
the  apple,  elm,  and  other  trees.  They  are  hatched 
about  the  time  the  tender  leaves  of  these  trees  begin 
to  unfold.  The  caterpillar  feeds  on  the  leaves,  and  at- 
tains the  full  growth  at  the  end  of  about  four  weeks, 
being  then  not  quite  an  inch  in  length.  It  then  descends 
into  the  ground,  and  enters  the  earth  to  the  depth  of 
four  or  five  inches,  and  having  excavated  a  sort  of  cell, 
is  soon  changed  into  a  chrysalis  or  nymph.  At  the 
usual  time  in  the  spring  it  bursts  its  skin,  and  appears 
in  its  perfect  state  in  the  form  of  a  moth.  In  this 
species,  however,  only  the  male  has  wings.  The  per- 
fect insects  soon  pair  ;  the  female  crawls  up  a  tree,  and, 
having  deposited  her  eggs,  dies. 

Transformations  no  less  remarkable  are  observed 
among  the  Crustacea.  The  Atiiifa,  like  all  Crustacea,  is 
reproduced  by  eggs.  From  these  eggs  little  animals 
issue,  which  have  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the 
parent.  They  have  an  elongated  form,  a  pair  of  tenta- 
cles, and  four  legs,  with  which  they  swim  freely  in  the 
water.     Their  freedom,  however,  is  of  but  short  duration, 


I90  JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AG  ASS  I Z 

The  little  animal  soon  attaches  itself  by  means  of  its 
tentacles — having  previously  become  covered  with  a 
transparent  shell,  through  which  the  outlines  of  the 
body,  and  also  a  very  distinct  eye,  are  easily  distin- 
guishable. It  is  plainly  seen  that  the  anterior  portion 
of  the  animal  has  become  considerably  enlarged  ;  sub- 
sequently the  shell  becomes  completed,  and  the  animal 
casts  its  skin,  losing  with  it  both  its  eyes  and  its  tenta- 
cles. On  the  other  hand,  a  thick  membrane  lining  the 
shell  pushes  out,  and  forms  a  stem,  by  means  of  which 
the  animal  fixes  itself  to  immersed  t)odies,  after  the  loss 
of  its  tentacles.  The  stem  gradually  enlarges,  and  the 
animal  soon  acquires  a.  definite  shape.  There  is,  conse- 
quently, not  only  a  change  of  organization  in  the  course 
of  the  metamorphoses,  but  also  a  change  of  faculties 
and  mode  of  life.  The  animal,  at  first  free,  becomes 
fixed;  and  its  adhesion  is  effected  by  totally  different 
organs  at  different  periods  of  life  :  first  by  means  of 
tentacles,  which  were  temporary  organs ;  and  after- 
ward by  means  of  a  fleshy  stem,  especially  developed 
for  that  purpose. 

The  metamorphoses  of  the  Mollusca,  though  less 
striking,  are  not  less  worthy  of  notice.  Thus,  the 
oyster  is  free  when  young,  like  the  clam,  and  most 
other  shell-fishes.  Others,  which  are  at  first  attached 
or  suspended  to  the  gills  of  the  mother,  afterward 
become  free.  Some  naked  gasteropods  are  born  with  a 
shell,  which  they  part  with  shortly  after  leaving  the  ^g%. 

The  study  of  metamorphoses  is  therefore  of  the 
utmost  importance  for  understanding  the  real  affinities 
of  animals,  very  different  in  appearance  ;  as  is  readily 
shown  by  the  following  instances  :  The  butterfly  and 
the  earth-worm  seem,  at  the  first  glance,  to  have  no 
relation  whatever.  They  differ  in  their  organization 
no  less  than  in  their  outward  appearance.  But  on  com- 
paring the  caterpillar  and  the  worm,  these  two  animals 
are  seen  closely  to  resemble  each  other.  The  analo^^y, 
however,  is  only  transient ;  it  lasts  only  during  the 
larva  state  of  the  caterpillar,  and  is  effaced  as  it  passes 
to  the  chrysalis  and  butterfly  conditions,  the  latter 
becoming  a  more  and  more  perfect  animal,  whilst  the 
worm  remains  in  its  inferior  state,  .  .  . 


JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AGASSIZ  ^9' 

Similar  instances  are  furnished  by  animals  belonging 
to  all  types  of  the  animal  kingdom.  ...  In  the  type 
of  the  Vertebrata  the  considerations  drawn  from  meta- 
morphoses acquire  still  greater  importance  in  regard  to 
classiiication.  The  sturgeon  and  the  white-fish  are  two 
very  different  fishes  ;  yet,  taking  into  consideration 
their  external  form  and  bearing  merely,  it  might  be 
questioned  which  of  the  two  should  take  the  highest 
rank  ;  whereas  the  doubt  is  very  easily  resolved  by  an 
examination  of  their  anatomical  structure.  The  white- 
fish  has  a  skeleton,  and,  moreover,  a  vertebral  column 
composed  of  firm  bone.  The  sturgeon,  on  the  contrary, 
has  no  bone  in  the  vertebral  column  except  the  spines, 
ox  apophyses  ol  the  vertebras ;  the  middle  part  or  body 
of  the  vertebrae  is  cartilaginous.  If,  however,  we  ob- 
serve the  young  white-fish  just  after  it  has  issued  from 
the  ^gg,  the  contrast  will  be  less  striking.  At  this 
period  the  vertebrae  are  cartilaginous,  like  those  of  the 
sturgeon,  its  mouth  is  also  transverse,  and  its  tail  un- 
divided. At  that  period  the  white-fish  and  the  sturgeon 
are  much  more  alike.  But  this  similarity  is  only  transient. 
As  the  white-fish  grows  its  vertebrce  become  ossified, 
and  its  resemblance  to  the  sturgeon  is  comparatively 
slight.  As  the  sturgeon  has  no  such  transformation  of 
the  vertebrae,  and  is  in  some  sense  arrested  in  its  de- 
velopment, while  the  white-fish  undergoes  subsequent 
transformation,  we  conclude  that,  compared  with  the 
white-fish,  it  is  really  inferior  in  rank.  .  .  . 

Nevertheless,  the  metamorphoses  which  occur  in  ani- 
mals after  birth  will,  in  many  instances,  present  but  tri- 
fling modifications  of  the  relative  rank  of  animals,  com- 
pared with  those  which  may  be  derived  from  the  study 
of  changes  previous  to  that  period  ;  as  there  are  many 
animals  which  undergo  no  changes  of  great  importance 
after  their  escape  from  the  tgg,  and  occupy,  neverthe- 
less, a  high  rank  in  the  zoological  series  ;  as,  for  exam- 
ple, birds  and  mammals.  The  question  is,  whether  such 
animals  are  developed  according  to  different  plans,  or 
whether  their  peculiarity  in  that  respect  is  merely 
apparent.  To  answer  this  question,  let  us  go  back  to 
the  period  anterior  to  birth,  and  see  if  some  parallel 
may  not  be  made  out  between  the  embryonic  changes 


19*  JEAN- LOUTS  RODOLFHE  AGASSIZ 

of  these  animals,  and  the  metamorphoses  which  take 
place  subsequently  to  birth  in  others. 

We  have  already  shown  that  embryonic  development 
consists  in  a  series  of  transformations  ;  the  young  ani- 
mal enclosed  in  the  &%g  differing  in  each  period  of  its 
development  from  what  it  was  before.  But  because 
these  transformations  precede  birth,  and  are  not  there- 
fore generally  observed,  they  are  not  less  important. 
To  be  satisfied  that  these  transformations  are  in  every 
respect  similar  to  those  which  follow  birth,  we  have 
only  to  compare  the  changes  which  immediately  precede 
birth  with  those  which  immediately  follow  it,  and  we 
shall  readily  perceive  that  the  latter  are  simply  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  former,  till  all  are  completed. 

The  young  white-fish,  as  we  have  seen,  is  far  from 
having  acquired  its  complete  development  when  born  ; 
much  remains  to  be  changed  before  its  development  is 
complete.  But  the  fact  that  it  has  been  born  does  not 
prevent  its  future  evolution,  which  goes  on  without  in- 
terruption. Similar  inferences  may  be  drawn  from  the 
development  of  the  chick.  The  only  difference  is  that 
the  young  chicken  is  born  in  a  more  mature  state,  the 
most  important  transformations  having  taken  place  dur- 
ing the  embryonic  period,  while  those  to  be  undergone 
after  birth  are  less  considerable,  though  they  complete 
the  process  begun  in  the  embryo. 

In  certain  mammals,  known  under  the  name  of  Mar- 
supials (the  opossum  and  kangaroo),  the  link  between 
the  transformations  which  take  place  before  birth,  and 
those  occuring  at  a  later  period,  is  especially  remarkable. 
These  animals  are  brought  into  the  world  so  weak  and 
undeveloped  that  they  have  to  undergo  a  second  gesta- 
tion, in  a  pouch  with  which  the  mother  is  furnished, 
and  in  v/hich  the  young  remain,  each  one  fixed  to  a  teat, 
until  they  are  entirely  developed.  Even  those  animals 
which  are  born  nearest  to  the  complete  states  undergo, 
nevertheless,  embryonic  transformations.  Ruminants 
acquire  the  horns  and  the  lion  his  mane.  Most  mam- 
mals, at  their  birth,  are  destitute  of  teeth,  and  incapable 
of  using  their  limbs  ;  and  all  are  dependent  on  the 
mother,  and  the  milk  secreted  by  her,  until  the  stomach 
is  capable  of  digesting  other  alimentr 


JEAN  LOUIS  RODOLPHE  AGASSIZ  u^j 

If  it  be  thus  shown  that  the  transformations  which  take 
place  in  the  embryo  are  of  the  same  nature  and  of  the 
same  importance  as  those  which  occur  afterward,  the 
circumstance  that  some  precede  and  others  succeed 
birth  cannot  mark  any  radical  difference  between  them. 
Both  are  processes  of  the  life  of  the  individual.  Now, 
as  life  does  not  commence  at  birth,  but  goes  still  further 
back,  it  is  quite  clear  that  the  modifications  which  su- 
pervene during  the  former  period  are  essentially  the 
same  as  the  later  ones.  And  hence  that  metamorphoses, 
far  from  being  exceptional  in  the  case  of  insects,  are 
one  of  the  general  features  of  the  animal  kingdom.  We 
are  therefore  perfectly  entitled  to  say  that  a!l  animals, 
without  exception,  undergo  metamorphoses.  .  .  . 

It  is  only  by  connecting  the  two  kinds  of  transforma- 
tion— namely,  those  which  take  place  before  and  those 
after  birth — that  we  are  furnished  with  the  means  of  as- 
certaining the  relative  perfection  of  an  animal.  In  other 
words,  these  transformations  become,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, a  natural  key  to  the  gradation  of  types.  At 
the  same  time,  they  force  upon  us  the  conviction  that 
there  is  an  immutable  law  presiding  over  all  these 
changes,  and  regulating  them  in  a  peculiar  manner  to 
each  animal.  .  .  .  From  the  facts  observed  in  the  study 
of  fossils,  we  may  conclude  that  the  oldest  fossil  fishes 
did  not  pass  through  all  the  metamorphoses  which  our 
osseous  fishes  undergo  ;  and  consequently  that  they 
were  inferior  to  analagous  species  of  the  present  epoch, 
which  have  bony  vertebrae.  Similar  considerations  ap- 
ply to  the  fossil  Crustacea  and  to  the  fossil  echinoderms, 
when  compared  with  their  living  types  ;  and  it  will  prob- 
ably be  found  true  of  all  classes  of  the  animal  kingdom, 
when  they  are  fully  studied  as  to  their  geological  suc- 
cession.— Outlines  of  Comparative  Physiology. 


VcL,  I.— 13 


AGATHIAS,  a  Greek  historian  and  poet,  born 
at  Myrina,  Asia  Minor,  about  536  A.D. ;  died 
about  582.  He  received  his  education  at  Alex- 
andria, and  went  to  Constantinople  in  554,  in  which 
place  he  studied  Roman  law  for  some  years,  and 
thereafter  practised  as  an  advocate.  Advocates 
at  that  period  were  known  in  Constantinople  by 
the  title  "  Scholasticus,"  and  this  appellation  was 
generally  accorded  to  Agathias. 

But  little  remains  of  Agathias's  poetical  works. 
His  collection  of  erotic  poems,  entitled  Daplmiaca^ 
were  lost  entirely,  only  the  introduction  to  his 
KvK\o<i,  or  anthology  from  earlier  and  contem- 
porary writers,  being  extant.  In  the  AntJiologia 
Grceci  a  number  of  his  epigrams  may  be  found. 

During  the  last  year  that  he  was  in  Alexandria 
(553)  he  commenced  his  chief  work,  the  history  of 
the  period,  beginning  it  where  Procopius  ends, 
with  the  twenty-sixth  year  of  Justinian's  reign,  and 
continuing  the  narrative  of  events  for  a  period  of 
five  years.  The  style  is  not  very  clear,  but  the 
work  is  valuable  as  a  chronicle,  although  the 
author  shows  great  ignorance  of  the  history  and 
geography  of  Western  Europe.  This  history  was 
printed  in  Greek,  with  a  Latin  translation  by 
Bonavcntura  Vulcanius,  in  1594,  at  Ley  den.  Nie- 
buhr's  edition  is  the  best  (Bonn,  1828).  In  the 
second  volume  of  Louis  Cousin's  History  of  Cun- 

(194) 


AGATHIAS  J  95 

stantinople ,  a  French  translation  of  Agathias's  his- 
tory is  published. 

THE    VINTAGE    FEAST. 

We  trod  the  brimming  wine-press  ankle-high, 

Singing  wild  songs  of  Baccliic  revelry  : 

Forth  flowed  the  must  in  rills  ;    our  cups  of  wood 

Like  cockboats  swam  upon  the  honeyed  flood  : 

With  these  we  drew,  and  as  we  filled  them  quaffed, 

With  no  warm  Naiad  to  allay  the  draught  : 

But  fair  Rhodanthe  bent  above  the  press, 

And  the  fount  sparkled  with  her  loveliness  : 

We  in  our  souls  were  shaken  ;  yea,  each  man 

Quaked  beneath  Bacchus  and  the  Paphian. 

Ah  me  !  the  one  flowed  at  our  feet  in  streams — 

The  other  fooled  us  with  mere  empty  dreams  ! 

— Translated  by  John  Addington  Symowus, 

THE    TORMENTS   OF    LOVE. 

All  night  I  wept,  and  when  the  morning  rose, 
And  short  oblivion  o'er  my  senses  crept, 
The  swallows,  twittering  round  me  as  I  slept. 

Drove  from  my  couch  the  phantom  of  repose. 

Be  silent,  envious  birds  !     It  was  not  I, 
Who  stopp'd  the  voice  of  tuneful  Philomel. 
Go — and  again  your  plaintive  descant  swell 

With  Itylus,  among  the  mountains  high  ! 

Leave  me,  oh  leave  for  a  while,  to  steep 

My  senses  in  a  sweet  forgetfulness  ! 

Perchance  my  dreams  Rhodanthe's  form  may  bless, 
Her  lovely  image  fill  my  arms  in  sleep. 

— Bland's  Collections  from  The  Anthology. 


AGUILAR,  Grace,  an  English  writer,  mainly 
of  religious  fiction,  was  born  at  Hackney,  near 
London,  June,  1816;  died  at  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main,  Germany,  September  16,  1847.  She  was  of 
Spanish-Hebrew  descent,  and  remained  true  to 
the  faith  of  her  fathers.  She  became  deaf  and 
dumb  some  time  before  her  death,  and  was 
obliged  to  converse  with  her  fingers  in  the  sign- 
language  used  by  deaf-mutes.  She  wrote  The 
Magic  Wreath,  a  small  volume  of  poems  ;  Records 
of  Israel,  Jewish  Faith,  its  Consolatiois,  Women  of 
Israel,  Vale  of  Cedars,  Days  of  Bruce,  Woina^is 
FriendsJiip,  Hojue  Scenes  and  Heart  Studies,  and 
Home  Influence,  which  is  the  most  popular  of  all 
her  works.  Leslie  Stephen's  National  Biography 
says;  "All  her  novels  are  of  a  highly  sentimental 
character,  and  mainly  deal  with  the  ordinar}^  in- 
cidents of  domestic  life.  Like  the  rest  of  her 
writings,  they  evince  an  intensely  religious  tem- 
perament, but  one  free  from  sectarian  prejudice." 


MOTHER   AND   DAUGHTER. 

"  I  am  sure  I  cannot  play  a  note  now,"  said  Emme- 
line  ;  "  it  will  be  no  use  trying." 

"  Emmeline  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  adding  gravely, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  have  danced  too  much  instead  of  not 
enough." 

The  tone,  still  more  than  the  words,  was  enough. 
Poor  Emmeline   was  just  ia  that  mood  when  tears  are 

(ly.) 


GRACE  AGUILAR  197 

quite  as  near  as  smiles  ;  her  own  petulance  seemed  to 
reproach  her  too,  and  she  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 
Many  exclamations  of  sympathy  and  condolence  burst 
from  her  mother's  friends  :  "  Poor  child  !  "  "She  has 
over-tired  herself !  "  "  We  cannot  expect  her  to  play 
now  !  "  But  Mrs.  Greville  saying,  with  a  smile,  that  her 
little  friend's  tears  were  always  the  very  lightest  April 
showers,  successfully  turned  che  attention  of  many 
from  her  ;  while  Mrs.  Hamilton,  taking  her  hand  from 
her  face,  merely  said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"Do  not  make  me  more  ashamed  of  you.  What 
would  papa  think  if  he  were  to  see  you  now  ?  " 

Her  little  girl's  only  answer  was  to  bury  her  face  still 
more  closely  in  her  mother's  dress,  very  much  as  if  she 
would  like  to  hide  herself  entirely,  but  on  Mrs.  Allan 
saying,  very  kindly  : 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  dear.  I  would  not 
have  asked  to  hear  you  play,  if  I  had  thought  you  would 
dislike  it  so  much.  I  dare  say  you  are  very  tired,  and 
so  think  you  will  not  succeed." 

She  raised  her  head  directly,  shook  back  the  fair 
ringlets  that  had  fallen  over  her  face,  and  though  the 
tears  were  still  on  her  cheeks  and  filling  her  eyes,  she 
said,  with  a  blending  of  childish  shyness  and  yet  cour- 
ageous truth,  impossible  to  be  described  : 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  am  not  too  tired  to  play.  I  did  not 
cry  from  fatigue,  but  because  I  was  angry  with  mamma 
for  not  letting  me  dance  any  more  ;  and  angry  with  my- 
self for  answering  her  so  pettishly  ;  and  because — be- 
cause— I  thought  she  was  displeased — and  that  I  de- 
served it." 

"  Then  come  and  redeem  your  character,"  was  Mrs. 
Hamilton's  only  notice  of  a  reply  that  actually  made  her 
heart  throb  with  thankfulness  that  her  lessons  of  truth 
were  so  fully  understood  and  practised  by  one  naturally 
so  gentle  and  timid  as  her  Emmeline  ;  while  Mrs.  Allan 
knew  not  v/hat  to  answer,  from  a  feeling  of  involuntary 
respect.  It  v/ould  have  been  so  easy  to  escape  a  dis- 
agreeable task  by  tacitly  allowing  that  she  was  too  tired 
to  play,  and  what  careful  training  must  it  have  been  to 
have  so  taught  truth. 

"  Mrs.  Allan  would  not  ask  you  before,  because  she 


198  GRACE  AGUILAR 

knew  you  did  not  like  to  play  while  the  room  was  so 
very  full ;  therefore  ought  you  not  to  do  your  very  best 
to  oblige  her  ?  " 

Emmeline  looked  timidly  up  in  her  mother's  face,  to 
be  quite  sure  that  her  displeasure  had  subsided  as  her 
words  seemed  to  denote  ;  and  quite  satisfied,  her  tears 
were  all  checked,  and  taking  Mrs.  Allan's  offered  hand, 
she  went  directly  to  the  music-room. — Home  Influence. 


AINSWORTH,  William  Harrison,  an  Eng- 
lish novelist,  born  at  Manchester,  February  4, 
1805  ;  died  at  Reigate,  January  3,  1882.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  solicitor,  and  was  designed  for  the 
legal  profession,  but  while  quite  young  em- 
braced the  profession  of  literature  and  acquired 
great  notoriety  as  a  writer  of  sensational  novels 
founded  mainly  upon  historical  or  semi-historical 
themes.  He  was  for  some  time  the  editor  of 
Bent  ley  s  Miscellayiy,  and  about  1842  started  Ains- 
wortJis  Magazine^  2l  periodical  which  he  conducted 
for  many  years,  and  in  which  most  of  his  writings 
originally  appeared.  Among  the  best-known  of 
his  tales,  which  gained  a  great  though  not  a 
wholly  reputable  popularity,  are  :  John  Cheverton 
(1825),  which  was  praised  by  Sir  Walter  Scott; 
Rookivood,  Crichton,  Jack  Sheppard,  The  Tower  of 
Londo7t,  Old  St.  PauTs,  Windsor  Castle,  St.  James's 
Palace,  The  Lancashire  Witches,  The  Star  Chamber^ 
The  Flitch  of  Bacon,  The  Spanish  Match,  John  Law, 
The  Projector,  Constable  Bourbon,  Old  Court,  Merrie 
England,  Hilary  St.  Ives,  Middleton  Pomphret,  and 
The  League  of  Latham,  the  last  being  issued  in 
1876;  so  that  Mr.  Ainsworth's  career  as  a  popular 
novelist  extended  over  more  than  half  a  century, 
and  the  works  of  few  of  his  contemporaries  en- 
joyed so  wide  a  popularity  among  the  less  culti- 
vated class  of  readers. 

(1^9) 


200  WILLIAM  HARRISON-  A  INS  WORTH 


CROSSING   THE   CHANNEL. 

For  some  time  Charles  remained  standing  on  the  deck 
of  the  schooner,  with  his  gaze  fixed  upon  the  shores 
from  which  he  was  rapidly  receding.  After  running  his 
eye  along  the  line  of  lofty  and  precipitous  chalk  cliffs, 
extending  on  the  right  to  the  South  Foreland,  and  on 
the  left  to  Sandwich,  he  turned  his  regards  to  the  old 
castle,  nowhere  beheld  to  such  advantage  as  from  the 
sea.  Precisely  at  that  moment  the  first  beams  of  the 
sun  began  to  gild  the  lofty  keep,  and  erelong  the  gray 
walls  encircling  the  hill,  with  the  numerous  watch- 
towers,  the  antique  church,  and  the  pharos  were  lit  up, 
until  the  entire  fortress,  which  had  hitherto  looked  cold 
and  stern,  assumed  a  bright  and  smiling  aspect,  which 
Charles  was  willing  to  construe  into  a  favorable  omen 
to  his  expedition.  Not  till  castle  and  cliffs  began  to 
grow  dim  in  the  distance,  did  he  bid  a  mental  adieu  to 
England.  No  incident  worthy  of  being  chronicled  oc- 
curred during  the  passage.  When  in  mid-channel  those 
in  the  schooner  caught  sight  of  several  men-of-war  be- 
longing to  the  fleet  which  Buckingham  had  professed  he 
was  about  to  inspect,  but  in  other  respects  the  voyage 
was  monotonous,  and  appeared  long  and  tedious  to  the 
travellers,  all  of  whom  were  impatient  to  get  across  the 
channel.  We  must  not  omit  to  mention  that,  immedi- 
ately after  their  embarkation.  Jack  and  Tom,  deeming 
disguise  no  longer  necessary,  had  laid  aside  their  false 
beards. 

Just  at  the  hour  of  two  in  the  afternoon  they  entered 
the  harbor  of  Boulogne,  and,  after  some  little  delay, 
were  permitted  by  the  officers  of  the  port  to  disembark, 
and  Charles,  for  the  first  time,  set  foot  in  France. — The 
Spanish  Match. 


AIRD,  Thomas,  a  noted  Scottish  poet  and  jour- 
nalist, contributor  to  Blackwood,  and  editor  of  tlie 
Edinburgh  Journal  and  of  the  Dumfries  Herald, 
was  born  at  Bowdon,  in  Roxburghshire,  August 
23,  1802,  and  died  at  Dumfries,  April  25,  1876.  He 
studied  in  the  parish  school  of  his  native  village, 
and  graduated  at  the  Edinburgh  University.  He 
early  evinced  a  striking  love  of  literature ;  and, 
having  become  acquainted  with  Carlyle  and  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd,  he  refused  all  offers  of  a  theo- 
logical education  and  devoted  himself  to  the  pro- 
fession of  letters.  His  principal  v/orks  are  :  Mart- 
no'dfle,  a  tragedy  in  three  acts,  published  in  1826; 
Religions  Characteristics  {i'^2y)  ;  The  Captive  of  Fez, 
a  narrative  poem  (1830);  The  Old  Bachelor  in  the 
Scottish  Village  (1845),  and  a  collection  of  Poems 
(1848).  The  best -known  of  his  poems  is  My 
Mother  s  Grave,  lines  which  evince  much  genuine 
poetic  feeling.  Aird  was  never  married,  and  lived 
a  very  simple  life,  very  rarely  quitting  Dumfries 
for  fort}'  years.  Carlyle  wrote  of  his  poetry  that 
he  found  evervwhere  "a  healthy  breath  as  of 
mountain  breezes,  a  native  manliness,  veracity, 
and  geniality,  which  is  so  rare  just  now  as  to  be 
doubly  and  trebly  precious." 

(2011') 


202  THOMAS  AIRD 


A   VISION    OF   THE    EVIL   SPIRIT. 

Beyond  the  North  where  Ural  hills  from  polar  tempests 
run, 

A  glow  went  forth  at  midnight  hour  as  of  unwonted 
sun. 

Upon  the  North,  at  midnight  hour  a  mighty  noise  was 
heard. 

As  if  with  all  his  trampling  waves  the  Ocean  were  un- 
barred ; 

And  high  a  grizzly  Terror  hung  upstarting  from  below, 

Like  fiery  arrow  shot  aloft  from  some  unmeasured  bow, 

'Twas  not  the  obedient  Seraph's  form  that  burns  before 
the  Throne, 

Whose  feathers  are  the  pointed  flames  that  tremble  to 
be  gone  : 

With  twists  of  faded  glory  mixed,  grim  shadows  wove 
his  wing  ; 

An  aspect  like  the  hurrying  storm  proclaimed  the  In- 
fernal King. 

And  up  he  went,  from  native  might,  or  holy  sufferance 
given. 

As  if  to  strike  the  Starry  boss  of  the  high  and  vaulted 
heaven. 

Aloft  he  turned  in  middle  air,  like  falcon  for  his  prey, 
And  bowed  to  all   the  winds  of  heaven  as  if  to  flee 

away  ; 
Till  broke  a  cloud — a  phantom  host,  like  glimpses  of  a 

dream. 
Sowing  the    Syrian   wilderness   with    many  a  restless 

gleam  : 
He  knew  the  flowing  chivalry,  the  swart  and  turbaned 

train. 
That  far  had  pushed  the  Moslem  faith,  and  peopled 

well  his  reign. 

With  stooping  pinion  that  outflew  the  Prophet's  winged 
steed. 

In  pride  throughout  the  desert  bounds  he  led  the  phan- 
tom speed  ; 


THOMAS  AIRD  203 

But  prouder  yet  he  turned  alone,  and  stood  on  Tabor 

hill, 
With  scorn  as  if  the  Arab  swords  had  little  helped  his 

will ; 
With  scorn  he  looked  to  west  away,  and  left  their  train 

to  die, 
Like  a  thing  that  had  awaked  to  life  from  the  gleaming 

of  his  eye. 

What  hill  is  like  to  Tabor  hill  in  beauty  and  in  fame  ? 
There  in  the  sad  days  of  his  flesh,  o'er  Christ  a  glory 

came  ; 
And  light  outflowed  Him  like  a  sea,  and  raised  His 

shining  brow, 
And  the  voice  went  forth  that  bade  all  words  to  God's 

Beloved  bow. 
One  thought  of  this  came  o'er  the  Fiend,  and  raised  his 

startled  form, 
And  he  drew  up  his  swelling  skirts,  as  if  to  meet  the 

storm. 

With  wing  that  stripped  the  dews  and  birds  from  off  the 
boughs  of  Night, 

Down  over  Tabor's  trees  he  whirled  his  fierce  distem- 
pered flight ; 

And  westward  o'er  the  shadowy  earth  he  tracked  his 
earnest  way, 

Till  o'er  him  shone  the  utmost  stars  that  hem  the  skirts 
of  day  ; 

Then  higher  'neath  the  sun  he  flew  above  all  mortal 
ken  ; 

Yet  looked  what  he  might  see  on  earth  to  raise  his  pride 
again. 

He  saw  a  form  of  Africa  low  sitting  in  the  dust. 

The  feet  were  chained,  and  sorrow  thrilled  throughout 
the  sable  bust. 

The  Idol,  and  the  idol's  Priest  he  hailed  upon  the  earth. 

And  every  Slavery  that  brings  wild  passions  to  the 
birth. 

All  forms  of  human  wickedness  were  pillars  of  his  fame. 

All  sounds  of  human  misery  his  kingdom's  loud  ac- 
claim. 


204  THOMAS  AIRD 

Exulting  o'er  the  rounded  earth  again   he   rode  with 

night, 
Till  sailing  o'er  the  untrodden  top  of  Aksbeck  high  and 

white, 
He  closed  at  once  his  weary  wings,  and  touched  the 

shining  hill  ; 
For  less  his   flight  was  easy  Strength  than  proud   un- 

conquered  Will : 
For  sin  had  dulled  his  native  strength,  and  spoilt  the 

holy  law 
Of  impulse,  whence  the  Archangel  forms  their  earnest 

being  draw. 

Here  upon  Mount  Aksbeck  the  Fiend  has  a 
vision,  or  a  series  of  visions.  He  is  plunged  into 
the  lake  of  God's  wrath,  and  lies  fixed  there  in 
dull,  passive  lethargy  for  ages,  as  it  seemed  to 
him.  At  length  a  new  vision  of  heavenly  light 
bursts  upon  him  ;  and  a  voice  promises  him  celes- 
tial bliss  if  he  will  only  bow  himself  in  submission 
to  the  Divine  Law  of  Love.  He  rejects  the  proffer 
with  proud  disdain,  nerves  himself  for  one  mighty 
effort,  and  soars  aloft  into  the  air,  resolved  to 
"  storm  the  very  windows  of  Heaven  and  stir 
their  calm  peace,  though  tenfold  hell  be  given  " 
as  his  punishment : 

Quick  as  the  levin,  whose  blue  forks  lick  up  the  life 
of  man. 

Aloft  he  sprang,  and  through  his  wings  the  piercing 
north  wind  ran  ; 

Till  like  a  glimmering  lamp  that's  lit  in  lazar-house  by 
night, 

To  see  what  mean  the  sick  man's  cries,  and  set  his  head 
aright. 

Which  in  the  damp  and  sickly  air  the  sputtering  shad- 
ows mar. 

So  gathered  darkness  high  the  Fiend,  till  swallowed  like 
a  star. 


THOMAS  AIRD  205 

What  judgment  from  the  tempted  Heavens  shall  on  his 

head  go  forth  ? — 
Down  headlong  from  the  firmament  he  fell  upon  the 

north. 
The  Stars  are  up  untroubled  all  in  the  lofty  fields  of 

air : 
The  Will  of  God's  enough,  without  His  red  right  arm. 

made  bare. 
'Twas  He  that  gave  the  Fiend  a  space,  to  prove  hira 

still  the  same  ; 
Then  bade  wild  Hell,  with  hideous  laugh,  be  stirred  her 

prey  to  claim. 

— From  the  DeviFs  Dream  on  Mount  Aksbeck. 


AKENSIDE,  Mark,  an  English  physician  and 
poet,  born  at  Newcastle-upon-Tjne,  November  9, 
1721;  died  in  London,  June  23,  1770.  He  studied 
at  the  Grammar  School  at  Newcastle,  and  at  the 
Universities  of  Edinburgh  and  Leyden,  at  the 
latter  of  which  he  took  his  degree  of  Doctor  of 
Medicine  in  1744.  He  practised  his  profession 
first  at  Northampton,  and  afterward  in  London. 
His  poem,  Pleasures  of  the  Imaginatioji,  appeared  in 
1744,  and  the  author  received  a  pension  of  ;^300  a 
year  from  Mr.  Dyson,  to  be  paid  until  "  his  prac- 
tice should  support  him."  Besides  his  Pleasures  of 
the  Imagination  he  wrote  a  number  of  odes  and 
minor  poems  and  some  medical  essays. 


THE   DIVINE    IDEA   IN    THE    IMAGINATION. 

From  heaven  my  strains  begin;  from  heaven  descends 
The  flame  of  genius  to  the  human  breast, 
And  love  and  beauty,  and  poetic  joy 
And  inspiration.     Ere  the  radiant  sun, 
Sprang  from  the  east,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  night 
The  moon  suspended  her  serener  lamp  ; 
Ere  mountains,  woods,  or  streams  adorned  the  globe, 
Or  Wisdom  taught  the  sons  of  men  her  lore  ; 
Then  lived  the  Almighty  One  :  then  deep  retired, 
In  his  unfathomed  essence,  viewed  the  forms, 
The  forms  eternal  of  created  things  ; 
The  radiant  sun,  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp. 
The  mountains,  woods,  and  streams,  the  rolling  globe, 
And  Wisdom's  mien  celestial.     From  the  first 
Of  days  on  them  his  love  divine  he  fixed, 

(206J 


MARK  AKENSIDE  207 

His  admiration  :  till  in  time  complete, 
What  he  admired  and  loved,  his  vital  smile 
Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath 
Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame  ; 
Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild-resounding  waves  ; 
Hence  light  and  shade  alternate  ;  warmth  and  cold, 
And  clear  autumnal  skies,  and  vernal  showers, 
And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things. 

THE    IMAGINATION    IN    HISTORY. 

Look  then  abroad  through  nature  to  the  range 

Of  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres, 

Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense; 

And  speak,  O  man  !  does  this  capacious  scene 

With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 

Thy  strong  conceptions  as  when  Brutus  rose 

Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Csesar's  fate, 

Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots ;  and  his  arm 

Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove, 

When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 

On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 

And  bade  the  Father  of  his  Country  hail ! 

For  lo  !  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust. 

And  Rome  again  is  free  ! 

WEALTH   OF  THE   IMAGINATION. 

Oh  !  blest  of  heaven,  whom  not  the  languid  songs 

Of  luxury,  the  siren,  nor  the  bribes 

Of  sordid  wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils 

Of  pageant  honor  can  seduce  to  leave 

Those  ever-blooming  sweets,  which  from  the  store 

Of  Nature  fair  Imagination  culls 

To  charm  the  enlivened  soul ! 

What  though  not  all 
Tf  mortal  offspring  can  attain  the  heights 
Of  envied  life ;  though  only  few  possess 
Patrician  treasures  or  imperial  state ; 
Yet  Nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  just, 
Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man 
Will  deign  to  use  them.     His  the  city's  pomp, 


2o8  MARK  AKENSIDE 

The  rural  honors  his.     Whate'er  adorns 
The  princely  dome,  the  column  and  the  arch, 
The  breathing  marbles  and  the  sculptured  gold, 
Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim, 
His  tuneful  breast  enjoys. 

For  him  the  Spring 
Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  germ 
Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds ;  for  him  the  hand 
Of  Autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch 
With  blooming  gold,  and  blushes  like  the  morn. 
Each  passing  hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings ; 
And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 
And  loves  unfelt  attract  him.     Not  a  breeze 
Flies  o'er  the  meadow,  not  a  cloud  imbibes 
The  setting  sun's  effulgence,  not  a  strain 
From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 
Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 
Fresh  pleasure  unreproved. 

Nor  thence  partakes 
Fresh  pleasure  only  :  for  the  attentive  mind. 
By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers, 
Becomes  herself  harmonious.     Wont  so  oft 
In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 
Of  sacred  order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home 
To  find  a  kindred  order;  to  exert 
Within  herself  this  elegance  of  love. 
This  fair-inspired  delight.     Her  tempered  powers 
Refine  at  length,  and  every  passion  wears 
A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive  mien. 
But  if  to  ampler  prospects — if  to  gaze 
On  Nature's  form,  where  negligent  of  all 
These  lesser  graces,  she  assumes  the  port 
Of  that  Eternal  Majesty  that  weighed 
The  world's  foundation — if  to  these  the  mind 
Exalts  her  daring  eye,  then  mightier  far 
Will  be  the  change,  and  nobler. 

Would  the  forms 
Of  servile  custom  cramp  her  generous  powers  ? 
Would  sordid  policies,  the  barbarous  growth 
Of  ignorance  and  rapine,  bow  her  down 
To  tame  pursuits,  to  indolence  and  fear  ? — 
Lo  !  she  appeals  to  Nature  ;  to  the  winds 


MARK  AKENSIDE  ••9 

And  rolling  waves,  the  sun's  unwearied  course. 

The  elements  and  seasons: — All  declare 

For  what  the  Eternal  Maker  has  ordained 

The  powers  of  man.     We  feel  within  ourselves 

His  energy  divine  ;  He  tells  the  heart 

He  meant,  He  made  us  to  behold  and  love 

What  he  beholds  and  loves  : — the  general  orb 

Of  life  and  being  ;  to  be  great  like  Him, 

Beneficent  and  active.     Thus  the  men 

Whom  Nature's  works  can  charm,  with  God  Himself 

Hold  converse  ;  grow  familiar,  day  by  day, 

With  His  conceptions  ;  act  upon  His  plan  ; 

And  form  to  His  the  relish  of  their  souls. 

— Pleasures  of  the  Imagination. 

Akenside  wrote  numerous  odes,  inscriptions, 
and  occasional  poems,  some  of  w^hich  possess 
considerable  merit ;  but  most  of  them  are  upon 
mere  temporary  and  local  themes.  One  of  the 
best  of  his  odes  is  that 

ON    THE    USE   OF   POETRY. 

Not  for  themselves  did  human  kind 
Contrive  the  parts  by  Heaven  assigned 

On  life's  wide  scene  to  play. 
Not  Scipio's  force  nor  Caesar's  skill 
Can  conquer  Glory's  arduous  hill 

If  Fortune  close  the  way. 

Yet  still  the  self-depending  soul. 
Though  last  and  least  on  Fortune's  roll, 

His  proper  sphere  commands  ; 
And  knows  what  Nature's  seal  bestowed. 
And  sees,  before  the  throne  of  God 

The  rank  in  which  he  stands. 

Who  trained  by  laws  the  future  age, 
Who  rescued  nations  from  the  rage 

Of  partial,  factious  power, 
My  heart  with  distant  homage  views; 
'J^'SQtent  if  thou,  Celestial  Muse, 

ii>idst  rule  my  natal  hour. 
Vol,  I.—X4 


2IO  MARK  A  KENS  IDE 

Not  far  beneath  the  hero's  feet, 
Nor  from  the  legislator's  seat, 

Stands  far  remote  the  bard. 
Though  not  with  public  terrors  crowned. 
Yet  wider  shall  his  rule  be  found, 

More  lasting  his  award. 

Lycurgus  fashioned  Sparta's  fame. 
And  Pompey  to  the  Roman  name 

Gave  universal  sway  : 
Where  are  they  ? — Homer's  reverend  page, 
Holds  empire  to  the  thirtieth  age, 

And  tongues  and  climes  obey. 

And  thus  when  William's  acts  divine 
No  longer  shall  from  Bourbon's  line 

Draw  one  vindictive  vow  ; 
When  Sydney  shall  with  Cato  rest, 
And  Russell  move  the  patriot's  breast 

No  more  than  Brutus  now  ; 

Yet  then  shall  Shakespeare's  powerful  art 
O'er  every  passion,  every  heart. 

Confirm  his  awful  throne  : 
Tyrants  shall  bow  before  his  laws  ; 
And  Freedom's,  Glory's,  Virtue's  cause, 

Their  dread  assertor  own. 

Among  the  best  of  Akenside's  inscriptions  are 
the  two  following : 

FOR   A   COLUMN   AT    RUNNVMEDE. 

Thou,  who  the  verdant  plain  dost  traverse  here. 
While  Thames  among  his  willows  from  thy  view 
Retires  :  O  stranger  !  stay  thee,  and  the  scene 
Around  contemplate  well.     This  is  the  place 
Where  England's  ancient  barons,  clad  in  arms, 
And  stern  with  conquest,  from  their  tyrant  King — 
Then  rendered  tame — did  challenge  and  secure 
The  charter  of  thy  freedom.     Pass  not  on 
Till  thou  hast  blessed  their  memory,  and  paid 
Those  thanks  which  God  appointed  the  reward 


MARK  AKENSIDE  all 

Of  public  virtue.     And  if  chance  thy  home 

Salute  thee  with  a  father's  honored  name, 

Go,  call  their  sons  :  instruct  them  what  a  debt 

They  owe  their  ancestors  ;  and  make  them  swear 

To  pay  it  by  transmitting  down  entire 

Those  sacred  rights  to  which  themselves  were  born. 

FOR   A   STATUE   OF   CHAUCER. 

Such  was  old  Chaucer:   Such  the  placid  mien 
Of  him  who  first  with  harmony  informed 
The  language  of  our  fathers.     Here  he  dwelt 
For  many  a  cheerful  day.     These  ancient  walls 
Have  often  heard  him,  while  his  legends  blithe 
He  sang  :  of  love  or  knighthood,  or  the  wiles 
Of  homely  life  ;  through  each  estate  and  age, 
The  fashions  and  the  follies  of  the  world 
With  cunning  hand  portraying.     Though  perchance 
From  Blenheim's  towers,  O  Stranger,  thou  art  come, 
Glowing  with  Churchill's  trophies  ;  yet  in  vain 
Dost  thou  applaud  them,  if  thy  breast  be  cold 
To  him,  this  other  hero  ;  who  in  times 
Dark  and  untaught,  began  with  charming  verse 
To  tame  the  rudeness  of  his  native  land. 


ALAMANNI,  Luigi,  an  Italian  poet,  born  at 
Florence  in  1495 ;  died  at  Amboise,  France,  in 
1556.  He  was  of  a  noble  Florentine  family,  and 
took  part  in  the  troubled  politics  of  his  time. 
Having-  been  driven  into  exile  by  the  hostile  party, 
he  took  refuge  in  France,  where  he  was  favorably 
received  by  the  Kings  Francis  I.  and  Henry  II., 
by  both  of  whom  he  was  entrusted  with  impor- 
tant political  affairs.  His  works  comprise  almost 
every  species  of  verse.  Among  them  are  two  epic 
poems,  a  tragedy,  a  didactic  poem,  lyrics,  satires, 
eclogues,  epigrams,  and  sonnets,  all  of  which  dis- 
play grace  of  thought  and  elegance  of  expression. 
Alamanni's  influence  upon  English  literature  is 
seen  in  the  introduction  into  our  poetry  of  the 
sonnet  by  his  great  imitator,  the  poet  Wyatt. 


SONNET    TO    ITALY. 

Thanks  be  to  God  !  my  feet  are  now  addressed, 

Proud  Italy,  at  last  to  visit  thee 

After  six  weary  years  of  destiny 

Forbids  me  in  thy  dear-loved  lap  to  rest. 

With  weeping  eyes,  with  look  and  heart  deprest, 

Upon  my  natal  soil  I  bend  the  knee, 

While  hope  and  joy  my  troubled  spirit  flee, 

And  anguish,  rage,  and  terror  fill  my  breast. 

I  turn  me,  then,  the  snowy  Alps  to  tread. 

And  seek  the  Gaul,  more  kindly  prompt  to  greet 

The  child  of  other  lands,  than  thou  art  thine. 

Here,  in  these  shady  vales,  mine  old  retreat, 

I  lay  in  solitude  mine  aching  head  : 

Since  Heaven  decrees,  and  thou  dost  so  incline. 


ALARCON,  Pedro  Antonio  de,  a  Spanish 
journalist,  poet,  novelist,  and  politician,  was  born 
in  Giiadix,  Granada,  March  lo,  1833;  died  at 
Valdemoro,  near  Madrid,  July  20,  1891.  He 
wished  to  study  law,  but  his  family,  who  belonged 
to  the  nobility,  had  lost  their  estates  through  the 
war  of  independence  and  were  unable  to  educate 
him,  and  placed  him  in  the  theological  school  of 
Guadix.  But  his  tastes  were  not  for  the  Church, 
and  he  neglected  his  studies  for  literature,  and 
while  in  the  seminary  began  writing  for  a  review 
published  at  Cadiz.  Soon  after  this,  at  the  age  of 
nineteen,  he  ran  away  from  the  seminary  and 
went  to  Madrid,  but  he  did  not  at  once  meet  with 
success.  After  taking  an  active  part  in  a  revolu- 
tion in  Vicalvaro,  he  returned  to  Madrid  and  be- 
gan writing  novels,  poems,  and  reviews,  and  from 
this  time  his  position  in  literature  was  assured. 
He  served  as  a  volunteer  in  the  Morocco  cam- 
paign of  1859,  was  a  member  of  the  Cortes  in 
1869,  and  was  appointed  a  Councillor  of  State  by 
Alfonso  XII.  in  1875.  The  same  year  he  was  made 
a  member  of  the  Spanish  Academ}'.  Among  his 
works  are  :  T/ie  Strange  Friend  of  Tito  Gill,  The 
Three-cornered  Hat,  and  The  Child  of  the  Ball. 

(213) 


214  PEDRO  ANTONIO  DE  ALARCON 


"UNCLE    LUKE. 

Uncle  Luke  was  uglier  than  sin,  and  he  had  been  so 
all  his  life  ;  and  now  he  was  nearly  forty  years  old. 
However,  our  Lord  has  seldom  sent  into  the  world  a 
man  so  genial  and  pleasant  as  Uncle  Luke. 

His  parents  were  shepherds — pastors,  not  of  souls, 
but  of  sheep  ;  so,  when  the  late  Bishop,  charmed  with 
Luke's  quick,  ready  wit,  requested  them  to  give  up 
their  son  to  him,  they  gladly  assented. 

But  as  soon  as  His  Grace  died,  the  lad  left  the  theo- 
logical seminary  for  the  barracks,  where  General  Care 
picked  him  out  from  the  rest  of  his  army  and  made  him 
his  private  orderly  and  personal  attendant  during  the 
campaign.  Soon  after  his  term  of  service  expired  it 
was  as  easy  for  Luke  to  win  the  heart  of  Trasquita  as  it 
had  been  for  him  to  capture  the  esteem  of  the  general 
and  of  the  prelate.  At  that  time  the  Navarrese  had 
seen  twenty  summers,  and  found  great  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  all  the  lads  of  Estella,  some  of  whom  were  quite 
wealthy  ;  however,  she  could  not  resist  the  witty  say- 
ings, the  pleasant  jests,  the  sheepish  glances  of  the  en- 
amoured Murcian  swain  ;  his  incessant  and  roguish 
smile,  so  malicious,  yet  so  sweet  ;  who  was  always  so 
daring,  so  ready,  so  loquacious,  so  witty  and  so  brave, 
that  finally  he  not  only  succeeded  in  turning  the  head 
of  the  coveted  beauty,  but  her  father's  and  mother's  as 
well. 

Luke  was  at  that  time,  and  had  always  been  since, 
rather  short, at  least  compared  with  his  wife;  somewhat 
round-shouldered,  very  swarthy,  with  no  beard  on  his 
face,  pockmarked,  and  having  rather  a  large  nose  and 
ears.  On  the  other  hand,  his  mouth  was  well  formed 
and  his  teeth  were  splendid.  One  might  say  that  only 
the  outside  of  that  man  was  coarse  and  ugly,  and  that, 
as  soon  as  one  began  to  know  him  well,  his  perfections 
appeared  ;  and  that  these  commenced  with  his  teeth. 
Then  came  his  voice,  sonorous,  flexible,  and  charming  ; 
manly  and  grave,  deep  at  times  ;  soft  and  caressing 
whenever  he  asked  for  anything,  and  always  hard  to 
withstand.     Then  came  the  words  uttered  by  that  voice 


PEDRO  ANTONIO  DE  ALARCON  215 

— everything  that  was  opportune,  witty,  judicious,  and 
winning.  And,  lastly,  Uncle  Luke  possessed  a  soul  full 
of  loyalty,  valor,  honesty,  common-sense,  desire  of  ac- 
quiring knowledge,  and  an  instinctive  or  empirical  ac- 
quaintance with  many  subjects  ;  and  he  always  dis- 
played  a  profound  disdain  toward  fools,  whatever  their 
social  standing  might  be,  while  a  certain  ironical,  satiri- 
cal, jesting  spirit  of  ridicule  made  him  appear  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Academician  like  a  Francisco  de  Quevedo 
in  the  rough.  Such  was  Uncle  Luke  outwardly  and  in- 
wardly.—  The  Three-cornered  Hat. 


ALBERTUS,  Magnus,  a  distinguished  German 
scholar  and  philosopher,  born  of  noble  lineage 
from  the  Von  Bollstadt  family,  at  Laiiingen,  a 
town  in  the  ancient  German  duchy  of  Swabia, 
situated  on  the  Danube  River.  The  date  of  his 
birth  is  believed  to  be  in  1193,  but  this  event  is 
disputed  by  some  authorities,  who  place  it  in  the 
year  1205.  He  received  his  education  chiefly  at 
Padua,  and  was  particularly  instructed  in  Aris- 
totle's writings.  He  became  a  member  of  the 
Dominican  Order  in  1223,  and  studied  theology 
according  to  the  regulations  of  this  order,  at 
Bologna.  He  was  chosen  lecturer  at  Cologne, 
in  which  city  his  order  had  a  house,  and  taught 
theology  and  philosophy  there  for  a  number  of 
years ;  he  also  taught  at  Ratisbon,  Freiburg, 
Strasburg,  and  Hildesheim.  In  1245  he  changed 
his  residence  to  Paris,  and  in  the  same  year 
received  his  doctorate.  He  also  taught  here  for 
some  little  time,  and  met  with  a  great  deal  of 
success.  He  was  created  provincial  of  his  order 
in  1254,  and  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  in  the 
performance  of  his  official  duties,  which  were 
arduous,  and  succeeded  in  filling  his  position  with 
credit  to  himself.  While  he  was  provincial  he 
publicly  undertook  the  defence  of  the  Dominicans 
against  the  University  of  Paris,  commented  on 
St.  John,  and  replied  to  the  errors  of  the  Arabian 
philosopher,  Averroes. 

(-     ) 


MAGNUS  ALBERTUS  217 

In  1260  the  Pope  created  him  Bishop  of  Ratis- 
bon,  but  he  resigned  his  bishopric  at  the  end  of 
three  years  and  spent  his  remaining  days  partly 
in  preaching  throughout  Bavaria  and  adjoining 
districts  and  partly  in  retirement  in  the  several 
houses  of  his  order.  Almost  his  last  work  was  his 
defence  of  the  orthodoxy  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  one 
of  his  many  pupils.  He  passed  away  at  Cologne 
in  1280,  aged  eighty-seven.  He  was  the  most 
widely  read  man  of  his  time,  and  was  noted  for 
his  extensive  learning.  Physical  science  was  the 
principal  subject  of  Albertus's  works,  which  were 
published  in  twenty-one  volumes  by  Dominican 
Peter  Jammay  in  165 1.  They  embraced  a  sort  of 
encyclopaedia  of  learning  of  his  times,  and  are 
proof  of  his  great  activity,  which  was  philosoph- 
ical rather  than  theological ;  for,  while  employ- 
ing philosophy  in  general,  and  Aristotle  in  par- 
ticular, in  theology's  service,  he  omitted  all  that 
is  specifically  biblical  from  what  belongs  to  the 
natural  reason,  such  as  miracles,  the  atonement, 
and  the  Trinity ;  though  he  does  not  refuse  to 
observe,  with  Augustinian  exemplifications,  faint 
representations  of  the  latter  doctrine  even  in  Nat- 
ure. In  accordance  with  church  doctrine  and  to 
the  practical  exclusion  of  Platonic  influences,  he 
digested,  interpreted,  and  systematized  Aristotle's 
complete  works  presented  in  the  Latin  transla- 
tions and  notes  of  the  Arabian  commentators. 
His  philosophical  labors  take  up  the  first  six  and 
last  of  the  twenty-one  books,  and  are  divided 
generally  with  regard  to  the  Aristotelian  plan  of 
the  sciences,  and  include  interpretations  and  con- 


2i8  MAGNUS  ALBERT  US 

densations  of  Aristotle's  relative  works,  with  sup- 
plementary controversies  depending  on  the  ques- 
tions then  agitating  discussion,  and  occasionally 
divergences  from  opinions  of  the  master.  In 
logic,  he  makes  an  effort  to  unite  the  three  rival 
theories  of  universals,  holding  that  they  exist  in 
three  ways;  (i)  Ante  res,  as  ideas  in  the  mind  of 
God,  from  which  the  class  is  modelled,  and  which 
therefore  exist  before  individual  things.  (2)  In 
rebus,  as  the  common  basis  in  a  class  of  individual 
objects.  (3)  Post  reSy  as  the  mental  notion  of  the 
class.  He  mainly  repeats  Aristotle  in  his  meta- 
physical and  physical  treatises,  differing  with  him 
in  reference  to  the  eternity  of  the  world  and  the 
definition  of  the  soul.  His  chief  theological  works 
are  a  commentary  in  three  volumes  on  the  Books 
of  the  SenteTices  of  Peter  Lombard  {Magister  Sen- 
tentt'arum),  and  the  Summa  TJieologicB,  in  two 
volumes.  This  last  is  in  substance  a  repetition  of 
the  first  in  a  more  instructive  shape.  His  knowl- 
edge of  physical  science  was  considerable,  and  for 
the  age  accurate.  He  evinced  great  industry  in 
every  department,  and,  though  we  discover  in  his 
system  many  openings  from  which  no  scholastic 
philosophy  was  ever  free,  yet  the  continued  study 
of  Aristotle  gave  him  a  great  power  of  systemat- 
ic thought  and  exposition,  and  the  results  accru- 
ing therefrom  by  no  means  warrant  the  ridicu- 
lous title  sometimes  bestowed  upon  him — the 
"Ape  of  Aristotle."  Rather  do  they  lead  us  to 
appreciate  the  motives  which  caused  his  col- 
leagues to  call  him  "  The  Great,"  and  the  no 
less  honorable  title  "  Doctor  Universalis,"  while 


MAGNUS  ALBERTUS  2xg 

"Dy  some  he  was  even  reputed  to  be  a  magician. 
The  best  authorities  upon  his  life  are  Sighart, 
Alberius  Magnus,  sein  Lebcn  und  seme  Wissenschaft, 
1857;  and  D'Assailly,  Albert  Ic  Grand,  1870.  The 
most  comprehensive  surveys  of  his  philosophy 
are  those  of  Stockel,  Geschichte  d.  Scholastischen 
Philosophic,  and,  in  smaller  compass,  Erdmann, 
Grundriss  d.  Geschichte  d.  Philosophic,  vol.  i.  Haur- 
ian,  Ritter,  and  Prantl  may  also  be  referred  to. 

ANALOGY    BETWEEN    GOD    AND    MAN. 

There  is  no  excellence  among-  the  creatures  which 
is  not  to  be  found  in  a  much  higher  style,  and  as  an 
archetype,  in  the  Creator  ;  among  created  beings  it 
exists  only  in  footmarks  and  images.  This  is  true  also 
of  the  Trinity.  No  artistic  spirit  can  accomplish  his 
work  without  first  forming  to  himself  an  outline  of  it. 
In  the  spirit,  therefore,  first  of  all,  the  idea  of  its  work 
is  conceived,  which  is,  as  it  were,  the  offspring  of  the 
spirit,  in  every  feature  resembling  the  spirit,  represent- 
ing it  in  its  acting.  Thus,  therefore,  the  spirit  reveals 
himself  in  the  idea  of  the  spirit.  Now,  from  the  acting 
spirit  this  idea  passes  into  reality,  and  for  this  purpose 
the  spirit  must  find  a  medium  in  outward  action.  This 
medium  must  be  simple,  and  of  the  same  substance 
with  him  who  first  acted,  if  indeed  the  latter  is  so  sim- 
ple that  being,  nature,  and  activity  are  one  in  him. 
From  this  results  the  idea  in  reference  to  God,  of  the 
formative  spirit,  of  the  planned  image,  and  of  the  spirit 
by  which  the  image  is  realized.  The  creation  in  time 
is  a  revelation  of  the  eternal  acting  of  God,  the  eternal 
generation  of  his  Son.  The  revelation  of  God  in  time 
for  the  sanctification  of  nature,  is  an  image  of  the 
eternal  procession  of  the  spirit  from  the  Father  and  the 
Son.  Our  love  is  only  a  reflection  of  the  divine  love; 
the  archetype  of  all  love  is  the  Holy  Spirit,  who,  like 
all  love,  proceeds  from  God.  The  one  love  spread 
abroad  through  all  holy  souls  proceeds  from  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Love  in  God  neither  diminishes  nor  increases, 
but  we  diminish  or  increase  it  in  ourselves  according  as 
we  receive  this  love  into  our  souls,  or  withdraw  from  it. 


ALC-^US  was  born  in  Mytilene,  in  Lesbos, 
about  6ii  B.C.  He  was  a  distinguished  poet,  and 
Is  ranked  by  some  as  the  first  of  the  lyric  poets  of 
Greece.  We  learn  from  portions  of  his  poems 
ihat  he  was  somewhat  of  a  politician,  becoming 
embroiled  in  the  political  quarrels  and  internal 
bickerings  of  the  city  in  which  he  was  born.  He 
gave  his  support  to  the  nobility,  taking  an  active 
part  against  those  who,  at  that  time,  established 
themselves  in  a  tyrannical  manner  in  Mytilene. 
On  account  of  his  action  in  this  struggle,  he  was 
compelled  to  leave  the  place  of  his  nativity,  and  he 
passed  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  exile,  leading 
an  eventful  and  wandering  life.  At  what  time  he 
died  is  unknown.  Mahaffy  says  of  him :  "  He 
was  the  perfect  picture  of  an  unprincipled,  violent, 
lawless  Greek  aristocrat,  who  sacrificed  all  and 
everything  to  the  demands  of  pleasure  and 
power." 

The  -^olian  dialect  was  the  standard  by  which 
his  compositions  were  guided.  There  was  made 
a  collection  of  his  poems,  divided  into  ten 
volumes.  Their  subjects  were  varied ;  some  of 
his  poems  were  hymns  to  the  gods;  others  were 
of  a  warlike  or  political  sort ;  while  still  others 

again  bespoke  an  ardent  love  of  freedom  and  a 

(220J 


ALCyEUS  221 

hateful  detestation  of  tyrants ;  and,  lastly,  some 
were  of  an  erotic  character,  and  were  particularly 
remarkable  for  the  fervor  of  the  passion  they  de- 
picted. 

Alcaeus  was  regarded  by  Horace  as  his  great 
model,  and  in  one  passage  (Od.  ii.,  1-^-26  et  seq.) 
the  latter  has  rendered  a  fine  picture  of  the 
poetical  powers  of  the  ^olian  bard.  One  kind  of 
metre,  the  Alcaic,  was  named  for  him,  supposedly 
because  of  the  care  he  took  in  the  construction  of 
his  verses.  There  has  not  come  down  to  us  an 
entire  composition  of  his,  but  a  complete  col- 
lection of  all  the  portions  of  his  poems  extant  may 
be  found  in  Burgk's  Poetce  Lyrici  Grceciy  Lipsias, 
1852. 

WINTER. 

The  rain  of  Zeus  descends,  and  from  high  heaven 

A  storm  is  driven  ; 
And  on  the  running  water-brooks  the  cold 

Lays  icy  hold  ! 
Then  up  !  beat  down  the  Winter  !  make  the  fire 

Blaze  high  and  higher  ! 
Mix  wine  as  sweet  as  honey  of  the  bee, 

Abundantly  ! 
Then  drink,  with  comfortable  wool  around 

Your  temples  bound  ! — 
We  must  not  yield  our  hearts  to  woe,  or  wear 

With  wasting  care  : 
For  grief  will  profit  us  no  whit,  my  Friend  ! 

Nor  nothing  mend. 
This  is  our  best  medicine,  with  wine  fraught 

To  cast  out  thought. 
— Translated  by  John  Addington  Symonds. 

An  excellent  specimen  of  the  style  of  Alcasus, 
and  the  longest  and  most  spirited  of  the  remains 


222  ALC^US 

of  his  political  poems,   is  the  following  descrip- 
tion of 

THE    ILLUMINATION    OF    HIS   OWN    PALACE. 

From  floor  to  floor  the  spacious  palace  halls 

Glitter  with  war's  array  ; 
With  burnished  metal  clad,  the  lofty  walls 

Beam  with  the  bright  noon-day. 
There  white-plumed  helmets  hang  from  many  a  nail, 

Above,  in  threatening  row  ; 
Steel-garnished  tunics,  and  broad  coats  of  mail, 

Spread  o'er  the  space  below. 
Chalcidian  blades  enow,  and  belts  are  here. 

Greaves  and  emblazoned  shields  ; 
Well-tried  protectors  from  the  hostile  spear. 

On  other  battle-fields. 
With  these  good  helps  our  work  of  war's  begun. 

With  these  our  victory  must  be  won. 

— Mure's  Translation. 


ALCAZAR,  Baltazar  de,  a  Spanish  poet 
who  lived  in  the  sixteenth  century.  In  his  own 
age  he  ranked  high  in  the  roll  of  authors,  and 
Cervantes  praises  him  as  having  made  the  Spanish 
river  Guadalquiver  equal  in  glory  to  the  Mincio, 
the  Arno,  and  the  Tiber.  His  verses  on  Sleep 
embody  a  pleasant  conceit.  Ticknor,  in  his  His- 
tory of  Spajiish  Literature^  speaks  of  him  as  "  a 
witty  Andalusian,  who  has  left  a  moderate  num- 
ber of  short  lyrical  poems  of  great  spirit,  most  of 
them  gay,  and  all  of  them  in  a  much  better  taste 
than  was  common  when  they  appeared." 


SLEEP. 

Sleep  is  no  servant  of  the  will, 

It  has  caprices  of  its  own  : 

When  most  pursued,  'tis  swiftly  gone  ; 
When  courted  least,  it  lingers  still. 
With  its  vagaries  long  perplexed, 

I  turned  and  turned  my  restless  sconce, 

Till,  one  bright  night,  I  thought  at  once 
I'd  master  it  : — So  hear  my  text. 
When  sleep  will  tarry,  I  begin 

My  long  and  my  accustomed  prayer; 

And  in  a  twinkling,  sleep  is  there, 
Through  my  bed-curtains  peeping  in  : 
When  sleep  hangs  heavy  on  my  eyes, 

I  think  of  debts  I  fain  would  pay, 

And  then,  as  flies  night's  shade  from  day, 
Sleep  from  my  heavy  eyelids  flies. 


2*4  saltajIax  d&  alcazar 

And  thus  controlled,  the  winged  one  bends 

E'en  his  fantastic  will  to  me  ; 

And,  strange  but  true,  both  I  and  he 
Are  friends — the  very  best  of  friends. 
We  are  a  happy  wedded  pair. 

And  I  the  lord  and  he  the  dame  ; 

Our  bed,  our  board,  our  hours  the  same  ; 
And  we're  united  everywhere. 

— Translation  of  Bowring. 


iM^^■ 


^li  <^MM^^  #^«<^^,  /«?^2*r%  /iT^P^k,  /"^-^^C^r^f^ 


i:g;:^:^±r_;^j_rg: 


ALCIPHRON,  the  most  eminent  Greek  epis- 
tolographer,  lived  in  the  last  part  of  the  second 
century  A.D,  He  was  probably  a  contemporary 
of  Lucian.  His  letters,  numbering  about  one 
hundred  and  sixteen,  have  been  published  in  three 
books,  and  are  written  in  the  purest  Attic  dialect, 
being  regarded  as  models  of  style.  Their  imagi- 
nar}'-  authors  are  country  people,  fisherwomen, 
courtesans,  and  parasites,  who,  representing  classes 
of  the  older  Greek  community,  express  their  senti- 
ments and  opinions  on  well-known  subjects  in  re- 
fined and  elegant  language,  yet  without  any  seem- 
ing inconsistency,  thus  delineating  the  private  life 
of  the  Athenians  at  that  period.  These  communi- 
cations are  of  great  value  from  the  glimpses  they 
give  of  social  life  of  the  period,  the  materials  be- 
ing mostly  derived  from  the  remains  of  the  middle 
and  new  Attic  comedy.  The  most  active  are 
those  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  celebrated 
hetserre,  especially  those  from  Glycera  to  Me- 
nanda.  The  style  is  a  careful  imitation  of  the  best 
Attic.  The  best  editions  of  his  letters  are  by 
Bergler  (1715)  and  Wagner  (1798). 

EUTHYDICUS   TO    EPIPHANIUS. 

Epistolce.  11/.,  JQ. 

By  the  Gods  and  Dcemons  !  mother,  leave,  I   entreat 
you,  for  a  short  time,  the  rocks  and  fields,  and  come  be« 
Vol.  I.— is  (225) 


326 


ALCIPHROI^ 


fore  you  die  and  behold  the  charming  things  which  are 
going  on  in  the  city.  What  have  you  not  lost  ?  The 
Haloa,  the  Apaturia,  the  Dionysia,  and  the  present 
most  sacred  Thesmophorian  festival.  The  first  day 
was  the  ascension  ;  to-day  is  appointed  for  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  fast ;  that  which  follows  is  distinguished  by 
the  sacrifice  to  Calligeneia.  If  you  make  haste,  you 
may  come  in  to-morrow  before  the  morning  star  is  gone, 
and  sacrifice  along  with  the  Athenian  women.  Come 
then  ;  delay  not,  I  entreat  you  by  the  safety  of  myself 
and  my  brethren.  To  die  without  any  knowledge  of 
the  city  would  be  abominable  ;  it  is  beastly  and  hateful. 
Permit  me,  mother,  since  I  speak  for  your  advantage,  to 
address  you  thus  freely.  To  be  ingenuous  in  conversa- 
tion is  a  virtue  in  every  character  ;  but  it  is  a  matter  of 
particular  duty  to  speak  the  truth  to  those  of  our  own 
family. — AIciphron''s  Epistles,  Translated  by  T.  MoMvOand 
W.  Beloe. 


ALCMAN,  or  ALKMAN,  or  ALCMARON,a 
distinguished  lyric  poet  of  Greece.  Although 
Lydia  in  Asia  Minor  is  accredited  with  being  his 
birthplace,  some  believe  him  to  have  been  a  native 
of  Sparta,  in  which  place  he  lived  from  early  boy- 
hood. He  was  held  by  the  Alexandrian  critics  as 
the  most  noted  of  the  lyric  poets  of  Greece,  and  by 
others  as  the  most  ancient.  He  flourished  about  the 
middle  of  the  seventh  century  B.C.  Alcman  may 
be  regarded  in  some  particulars  to  be  the  father 
of  lyric  poetry  among  the  Greeks,  and  perhaps 
this  is  the  reason  he  was  placed  by  the  Alexan- 
drian critics  at  the  head  of  their  lyric  canon.  In 
his  six  books,  written  in  the  vigorous  broad  dialect 
of  the  Dorians,  are  contained  all  sorts  of  melos, 
hymns,  pasans,  prosodia,  parthenia,  and  erotic 
songs.  His  metres  did  not  resemble  the  compli- 
cated systems  of  later  lyrists,  being  easy  and 
various,  while  on  the  other  hand  his  proverbial 
wisdom  and  the  form  of  his  personal  allusions 
sometimes  remind  one  of  Pindar.  His  general 
character  was  that  of  an  easy,  simple,  pleasure- 
loving  man.  He  claims  to  have  imitated  the  song 
of  birds.  Fragments  of  his  works  are  extant,  the 
best  collection  of  which  was  published  by  F.  G. 
Welcker,  Giesen,  1815,  4to ;  they  are  also  con- 
tained in  Burgk's  Poetce  Lyrici  Grceci,  1852. 

The  following  description  of  sleep  is  the  best 
(227; 


228 


ALCA/.hV 


and  one  of  the  longest  of  the  extant  fragments  of 
Alcman.  This  beautiful  passage,  which  has  been 
imitated  and  paraphrased  by  many  distinguished 
I'Oets,  so  vividly  depicts  the  scener}'  of  the  vale  of 
Lacedccmon  that  Mure,  the  translator,  declared  it 
(difficult  to  convey  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader 
the  effect  produced  on  his  own  by  the  recurrence 
!'!  the  lines  to  his  mind  during  a  walk  among  the 
1  uius  of  Sparta,  on  a  calm  spring  night,  about  an 
hour  after  a  brilliant  sunset: 

SLEEP. 

Over  the  drowsy  earth  still  night  prevails. 

Calm  sleep  the  mountain  tops  and  shady  vales, 

The  rugged  cliffs  and  hollow  glens  ; 

The  wild  beasts  slumber  in  their  dens  ; 

The  cattle  on  the  hilL     Deep  in  the  sea, 

The  countless  finny  race  and  monster  brood 

Tranquil  repose.     Even  the  busy  bee 

Forgets  her  daily  toil.     The  silent  wood 

No  more  with  noisy  hum  of  insect  rings  ; 

And  all  the  feathered  tribes,  by  gentle  sleep  subdued, 

Roost  in  the  glade,  and  b.ang  their  drooping  wings. 

— Translated  by  William  Mure. 


ALCOTT,  Amos  Bronson,  an  American  edu- 
cator and  philosopher,  born  at  Wolcott,  Conn., 
November  29,  1799  ;  died  at  Boston,  Mass.,  March 
4,  1888.  While  a  boy  he  went  to  the  South  with  a 
trunk  of  merchandise,  with  which  he  travelled 
from  plantation  to  plantation.  The  planters  re- 
ceived him  hospitably,  and  lent  him  books,  which 
he  studied  diligently,  and  thus  educated  himself 
in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  term.  He  returned  to 
Connecticut  and  opened  an  infant  school.  In  1828 
he  removed  to  Boston,  where  he  conducted  a 
similar  school  for  some  years,  and  subsequently 
took  up  his  residence  at  Concord,  Mass.  After  a 
visit  to  England,  in  1842,  he  established  an  educa- 
tional community  near  Harvard,  Mass.,  which  was 
soon  afterward  abandoned,  when  he  returned  to 
Concord  and  took  upon  himself  the  work  of  a 
peripatetic  philosopher,  lecturing  and  conversing, 
as  invitations  were  extended  to  him,  upon  a  wide 
range  of  topics,  among  which  were  divinity, 
ethics,  dietetics,  and  human  nature  in  general.  In 
the  meanwhile  he  contributed,  under  the  title  of 
Orphic  Sayings,  a  series  of  transcendental  papers 
to  The  Dial,  a  magazine  edited  by  Margaret  Fuller 
and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  published  several 
books,  among  which  are  Conversations  with  Chil- 
dren on  the  Gospels  (1836),  Spiritual  Culture  (1840), 

Tablets    (1868),    Concord  Days   (1872),     Table 'talk 

(229) 


230  AMOS  BROIVSON"  ALCOTT 

(1877),  and  Sonnets  and  Canzonets  (1882).  His 
Table-talk,  unlike  most  works  so  designated,  em- 
body not  his  utterances  taken  down  by  others, 
mainly  from  memory,  but  are  his  own  careful  pres- 
entation and  summation  of  the  thoughts  and 
principles  which  he  had  inculcated  and  set  forth 
orally  during  his  thirty  years  as  a  peripatetic 
philosopher.  Within  the  compass  of  a  small  vol- 
ume he  has  comprised  the  essential  sum  and  sub- 
stance of  his  long  meditations  and  instructions 
upon  high  and  noble  themes  pertaining  to  human 
life  and  culture.  It  finds  its  nearest  parallel  in  the 
apothegms  of  Bacon. 

CONCORD   AND    ITS   SURROUNDINGS. 

Like  its  suburban  neighbor  beside  the  Charles,  our 
village,  seated  along  the  banks  of  its  Indian  stream, 
spreads  a  rural  cradle  for  the  fresher  literature  ;  and 
aside  from  these  advantages  it  well  deserves  its  name 
for  its  quiet  scenery  and  plain  population.  Moreover, 
few  spots  in  New  England  have  won  a  like  literary  re- 
pute. The  rural  muse  has  traversed  these  fields, 
meadows,  woodlands,  the  brook-sides,  the  river;  caught 
the  harmony  of  its  changing  skies,  and  portrayed  their 
spirit  in  books  that  are  fit  to  live  while  Letters  delight, 
and  Nature  charms  her  lovers.  Had  Homer,  had  Vir- 
gil, fairer  prospects  than  our  landscape  affords  ?  Had 
Shakespeare  or  Goethe  a  more  luxuriant  simplicity  than 
ours  ?  Only  the  wit  to  say  or  sing  these  the  poet  needs  ; 
and  of  this  our  neighborhood  has  not  less  than  many 
sounding  cities.  Plain  as  our  landscape  is,  it  has  spe- 
cial attractions  for  the  scholar  who  courts  quiet  sur- 
roundings, scenery  not  too  exciting,  yet  stimulating  to 
genial  and  uninterrupted  studies.  If  the  hills  command 
no  very  broad  horizon,  the  prospect  is  sufficiently  sylvan 
to  give  an  agreeable  variety  without  confusing  the  mind, 
while  the  river  in  good  part  compensates  for  the  same- 
net*   as  it  winds  sluggishly  along  the  confines  of  the 


AMOS  BROiVSOiV  ALCOTT  231 

village,  flowing  by  the  monument  into  the  distance 
through  the  meadows.  Thoreau,  writing  of  it,  jocosely 
says:  "It  is  remarkable  for  the  gentleness  of  its  cur- 
rent, which  is  hardly  perceptible,  and  some  have  ascribed 
to  its  influence  the  proverbial  moderation  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  Concord,  as  celebrated  in  the  Revolution  and 
on  other  occasions.  It  has  been  suggested  that  the 
town  should  adopt  for  its  coat-of-arms  z.  field  verdant 
with  the  Concord  River  circling  nine  times  round  it." — 
Table-Talk. 

EPHEMERAL   READING. 

Not  in  stirring  times  like  ours,  when  the  world's  af- 
fairs come  posted  with  the  successive  sun  rising 
or  setting,  can  we  ignore  magazines,  libraries,  and 
ephemera  of  the  press.  Newspapers  intrude  into  every 
house,  almost  supersede  the  primers  and  text-books  of 
the  schools,  proffering  alike  to  hand  and  eye  intelli- 
gence formerly  won  only  by  laborious  studies  and  much 
expense  of  time  and  money.  Cheap  literature  is  now  in 
vogue  ;  the  age,  if  not  profound,  has  chances  for  at- 
taining some  superficial  knowledge,  at  least,  of  the 
world's  doings  and  designings  ;  the  experiments  of  the 
few  being  hereby  popularized  for  the  benefit  of  the 
many  everywhere,  the  humblest  even  partaking  largely 
of  the  common  benefit. — Table-  Talk, 

IDEALISM   AND    IDEALISTS. 

Life  and  literature  need  the  inspiration  which  ideal- 
ism quickens  and  promotes.  The  history  of  thought 
shows  that  a  people  given  to  sensationalism  and  the 
lower  forms  of  materialism  have  run  to  ruin.  Only 
that  which  inspires  life  and  nobility  of  thought  can 
maintain  and  preserve  itself  from  speedy  and  ignoble 
decay.  And  we  have  too  palpable  evidences  of  corrup- 
tion, public  and  private,  to  leave  us  in  doubt  as  to  the 
tendency  of  not  a  little  of  the  cultivation  and  teachings 
in  our  times.  .  .  .  The  idealists  have  given  deeper 
insight  into  life  and  nature  than  other  schools  of 
thought.  If  inclined  to  visionariness,  and  seemingly 
sometimes  on  the  verge  of  lunacy  even,  they  have  re- 


232  AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT 

vealed  depths  of  being,  a  devotion  to  the  spirit  of  uni- 
versality, that  render  their  works  most  edifying.  They, 
more  than  any  other,  hold  the  balance  between  mind 
and  matter,  and  illuminated  literature,  while  they  fur- 
thered the  science,  art,  and  religion  of  all  times.  An  age 
deficient  in  idealism  has  ever  been  one  of  immorality 
and  superficial  attainment,  since  without  the  sense  of 
ideas,  nobility  of  character  becomes  of  rare  attainment, 
if  possible. — Table-Talk. 

PREACHING. 

If  the  speaker  cannot  illuminate  the  parlor,  shall  he 
adorn  the  pulpit  ?  Who  takes  most  of  private  life  into 
the  desk  comes  nearest  heaven  and  the  children  who 
have  not  lapsed  out  of  it.  Is  it  not  time  in  the  world's 
history  to  have  less  familiarity  with  sin  and  the  woes  of 
the  pit?  Commend  me  to  him  who  holds  me  fast  by 
every  sense,  persuades  me — against  every  bias  of  tem- 
perament, habit,  training,  culture — to  espouse  the  just 
and  lovely,  and  he  shall  be  in  my  eyes  thereafter  the 
Priest  of  the  Spirit  and  the  Sent  of  Heaven.  It  is  un- 
deniable that,  with  all  our  teaching  and  preaching — ■ 
admirable  as  these  often  are — the  current  divinity  falls 
behind  our  attainments  in  most  things  else  ;  the  com- 
manding practical  sense  and  adventurous  thoughts  of 
our  time  being  unawakened  to  the  concerns  w^herein 
faith  and  duty  have  their  seats,  and  from  whose  foun- 
tains life  and  thought  are  spiritualized  and  made  lovely 
to  men.  Though  allegory  is  superseded  in  good  part 
by  the  novel,  the  field  for  this  form  of  writing  is  as 
rich  and  inviting  as  when  Bunyan  wrote.  A  sacred 
allegory,  treating  of  the  current  characteristics  of  the 
religious  world,  would  be  a  powerful  instrumentality  for 
awaking  and  stimulating  the  piety  of  our  times. — Table- 
Talk. 

DOGMAS. 

Every  dogma  embodies  some  shade  of  truth  to  give 
it  seeming  currency.  Take  the  theological  trinity  as 
an  instance  which  has  vexed  the  literal  Church  from 
its  foundation,  and  still  perplexes  its  learned  doctors. 


AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT  233 

An  intelligible  psychology  would  interpret  the  mystery 
even  to  the  unlearned  and  unprofessional.  Analyse 
the  attributes  of  your  personality — that  which  you  name 
yourself — and  you  will  find  herein  the  threefold  attri- 
butes of  instinct,  intelligence,  will,  incarnate  in  your 
own  person:  —  the  root  plainly  of  the  trinitarian 
dogma. — Not  till  we  have  fathomed  the  full  significance 
of  what  we  mean  when  we  pronounce  ^^  I  myself,"  is  the 
idea  of  person  clearly  discriminated,  philosophy  and 
religion  established  upon  immutable  foundations. — 
Table-  Talk. 

CONSCIENCE. 

Ever  present  and  operant  is  That  which  never  be- 
comes a  party  in  one's  guilt,  conceives  never  an  evil 
thought,  consents  never  to  an  unrighteous  deed,  never 
sins  ;  but  holds  itself  impeccable,  immutable,  personally 
holy — the  Conscience — counsellor,  comforter,  judge, 
and  executor  of  the  spirit's  decrees.  None  can  flee 
from  the  spirit's  presence,  nor  hide  from  himself. 
The  reserved  powers  are  the  mighty  ones.  Side  by 
side  sleep  the  Whispering  Sisters  and  the  Eumenides. 
Nor  is  Conscience  appeased  till  the  sentence  is  pro- 
nounced. There  is  an  oracle  in  the  breast,  an  unsleep- 
ing police ;  and  ever  the  court  sits,  dealing  doom  or 
deliverance.  Our  sole  inheritance  is  our  deeds.  While 
remorse  stirs  the  sinner,  there  remains  hope  of  his  re- 
demption. "  Only  he  to  whom  all  is  one,  who  draweth 
all  things  to  one,  and  seeth  all  things  in  one,  may  en- 
joy true  peace  and  rest  of  spirit."  None  can  escape  the 
Presence.  The  Ought  is  everywhere  and  imperative. 
Alike  guilt  in  the  soul  and  anguish  in  the  flesh  affirm 
His  ubiquity.  Matter — in  particle  and  planet,  mind 
and  macrocosm — is  quick  with  spirit. — Table-Talk. 

SPIRITUALITY. 

Born  daily  out  of  a  world  of  wonders  into  a  world  of 
wonders,  that  faith  is  most  ennobling  which,  answering 
to  one's  highest  aspirations,  touches  all  things  mean- 
while with  the  hues  of  an  invisible  world.  And  how 
vastly  is  life's  aspect,  the  sphere  of  one's  present  ac- 
tivity, widened    and  ennobled   the  moment  there  step 


234  AMOS  BRONSON-  ALCOTT 

spiritual  agents  upon  the  stage,  and  he  holds  conscious 
communication  with  unseen  powers  !  "He  to  whom 
the  law  which  he  is  to  follow,"  says  Jacobi,  *'  doth  not 
stand  forth  as  a  God,  has  only  a  dead  letter  which  can- 
not possibly  quicken  him."  The  religious  life  tran- 
scends the  scientific  understanding,  its  light  shining 
through  the  clouds  to  those  alone  whose  eyes  are 
anointed  to  look  behind  the  veils  by  lives  of  purity  and 
devotion. — Table-  Talk. 

PERSONAL   IDENTITY. 

Personal  Identity  is  the  sole  Identity.  "That  which 
knows  and  that  which  is  known,"  says  Aristotle,  "are 
really  the  same  thing."  The  knowing  that  I  am  affirms 
also  the  personality  immanent  in  all  persons ;  and 
hence  of  the  Supreme  Person,  since  distinct  from  per- 
eonality  neither  mind  nor  God  were  thinkable.  And  it 
were  impossible  to  have  like  conceptions  in  our  minds, 
(f  we  did  not  partake  of  one  and  the  same  intellect. 

Were  God  not  God,  I  were  not  // 
Myself  in  Him  myself  descry. 

An  impersonal  God  were  an  absurdity.  Personality 
is  essential  to  the  idea  of  spirit,  and  man,  as  man,  were 
unthinkable  without  the  presupposition  of  personality. 
It  is  the  /  that  gives  subsistence  to  nature  and  reality 
to  mind.  Where  the  /  is  not,  nothing  is.  Religion  and 
science  alike  presuppose  its  presence  as  their  postulate 
and  ground.  It  is  the  essence  of  which  substance  is  the 
manifestation.  Qualities  are  inherent  in  substance, 
and  substance  is  one  and  spiritual.  Personal  Identity 
is  spiritual,  not  numerical,  souls  being  one,  bodies  not 
one.  Any  number  of  bodies  can  never  attain  to  unity, 
since  it  is  the  one  in  each  that  defines  and  denotes  it. 
The  personality  is  inclusive  of  the  one  in  each  and  in 
?^\.— Table- Talk. 

SIGNIFICANCE   OF    SLEEP. 

Our  sleep  is  a  significant  symbol  of  the  soul's  ante- 
cedence. Shall  I  question  that  I  now  am,  because  I  am 
unconscious  of  being  myself  while  I  slept;  or  because 
I  am  conscious  of  being  then  unconscious?  I  am  sure 
of  being   one  and  the  same    person   I  then   was,    and 


AMOS  BROATSON  ALCOTT  235 

thread  my  identity  through  my  successive  yesterdays 
into  the  memory  out  of  which  my  consciousness  was 
born  ;  nor  can  I  lose  myself  in  the  search  of  myself. 
At  best,  our  mortality  is  but  a  suspended  animation, 
the  soul  meanwhile  awaiting  its  summons  to  awaken 
from  its  slumbers.  Every  act  of  sleep  is  a  metamor- 
phosis of  bodies  and  a  metempsychosis  of  souls.  We 
lapse  out  of  the  senses  into  the  pre-existent  life  of 
memory  through  the  gate  of  dreams,  memory  and 
fancy  opening  their  folding-doors  into  our  past  and 
future  periods  of  existence  : — the  soul  freed  for  the 
moment  from  its  dormitory  in  space  and  time.  The 
more  of  sleep  the  more  of  retrospect ;  the  more  of 
wakefulness,  the  more  of  prospect.  Memory  marks  the 
nadir  of  our  consciousness,  imagination  its  zenith.  Be- 
fore the  heavens  thou  art,  and  shall  survive  their  decay. 
Were  man  personally  finite,  he  could  not  conceive  of 
infinity  ;  were  he  mortal  he  could  not  conceive  of  im- 
mortality. Whatever  had  a  beginning  comes  of  neces- 
sity to  its  end,  since  it  has  not  the  principle  of 
perpetuity  inherent  in  itself.  And  there  is  that  in  man 
which  cannot  think  annihilation,  but  thinks  continu- 
ance. All  life  is  eternal  ;  there  is  no  other.  Despair 
snuffs  the  sun  from  the  firmanent. 

For  souls  that  of  His  own  good  life  i>artake 
He  loves  as  His  own  self  ;  dear  as  His  eye 
They  are  to  Him.     He'll  never  them  forsake. 
When  they  shall  die,  then  God  Himself  shall  die. 
They  live,  they  live  in  blest  eternity. 

—Table-Talk. 

In  the  Conversations  with  Children  on  the  Gospels^ 
written  in  1840,  a  w^hole  generation  before  this 
book  of  Table-  Talk  appeared  in  print,  Mr.  Alcott 
developed  somewhat  of  the  fundamental  idea 
which  led  him  in  after  years  to  become  an  oral 
teacher. 

CONVERSATION    AS   A    MEANS   OF   INSTRUCTION. 

In  conversation  all  the  instincts  and  faculties  of  our 
being  are  touched.  They  find  full  and  fair  scope.  It 
tempts  forth  all  the  powers.     Man  faces  his  fellow  man. 


236  AMOS  BRONSON-  ALCOTT 

He  feels  the  quickening  life  and  light ;  the  social  affec- 
tions are  addressed  ;  and  these  bring  all  the  faculties  in 
train.  Speech  comes  unbidden.  Nature  lends  her  im- 
ages. Imagination  sends  abroad  her  winged  words.  We 
see  thought  as  it  springs  from  the  soul,  and  in  the  very 
process  of  growth  and  utterance.  Reason  plays  under 
the  mellow  light  of  fancy.  The  genius  of  soul  is 
waked,  and  eloquence  sits  on  her  tuneful  lip.  Wisdom 
finds  an  organ  worthy  her  serene  utterance.  Ideas 
stand  in  beauty  and  majesty  before  the  soul.  And 
genius  has  ever  sought  this  organ  of  utterance.  It  has 
given  full  testimony  in  its  favor.  Socrates — a  name 
that  Christians  can  see  coupled  with  that  of  their 
Divine  Sage — descanted  thus  on  the  profound  themes 
in  which  he  delighted.  The  market-place,  the  work- 
shop, the  public  streets,  were  his  favorite  haunts  of 
instruction.  And  the  divine  Plato  has  added  his  testi- 
mony, also,  in  those  enduring  works,  wherein  he  sought 
to  embalm  for  posterity  both  the  wisdom  of  his  master 
and  the  genius  which  was  his  own.  Rich  text-books 
these  for  the  study  of  philosophic  genius ;  next  in  finish 
and  beauty  to  the  specimens  of  Jesus  as  recorded  by 
John. — Spiritual  Culture. 

The  Orphic  Sayings — one  hundred  in  num- 
ber— appeared  in  The  Dial  for  July,  1840,  and 
January,  1841.  They  are  pregnant  and  brief; 
sometimes  of  only  a  line  or  two ;  all  told  they  fill 
barely  a  score  of  pages.  Some  of  them  are  nota- 
ble as  indicative  of  the  author's  turn  of  thought 
at  this  period  of  his  life. 

SOME    ORPHIC   SAYINGS. 

I.  T/:e  Heart-dial. — Thou  art,  my  heart,  a  soul-flower, 
feeling  ever  and  following  the  motions  of  thy  sun.  Open- 
ing thyself  to  her  vivifying  ray,  and  pleading  thy  affin- 
ty  with  the  celestial  orbs.  Thou  dost  the  livelong  day 
uial  on  Time  thine  own  eternity.  .  .  .  viii.  Mysticism. 
— Because  the  soul  is  herself  mysterious,  the  saint  is  a 
mystic  to  the  worldling.     He  lives  to  the  soul ;  he  par- 


AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT  237 

takes  of  her  properties  ;  he  dwells  in  her  atmosphere 
of  light  and  hope.  But  the  worldling,  living  to  sense, 
is  identified  with  the  flesh  ;  he  dwells  amidst  the  dust 
and  vapors  of  his  own  lusts,  which  dim  his  vision,  and 
obscure  the  heavens  wherein  the  saint  beholds  the  face 
of  God.  ...  X.  Apotheosis. — Every  soul  feels  at  times 
lier  own  possibility  of  becoming  a  God  ;  she  cannot  rest 
in  the  human  ;  she  aspires  to  the  godlike.  Men  shall 
become  Gods.  Every  act  of  admiration,  prayer,  praise, 
worship,  desire,  hope,  implies  and  predicts  the  future 
apotheosis  of  the  soul.  .  .  .  xxv,  TJie  Prophet. — The 
prophet,  by  disciplines  of  meditation  and  valor,  faithful 
to  the  spirit  of  the  heart,  his  eye  purified  of  the  motes 
of  tradition,  his  life  of  the  vestiges  of  usage,  ascends  to 
the  heights  of  immediate  intuition.  He  rends  the  veil 
of  sense  ;  he  bridges  the  distance  between  faith  and 
sight,  and  beholds  the  spiritual  verities  without  script- 
ure or  meditation.  In  the  presence  of  God  he  com- 
munes with  Him  face  to  face.  .  .  .  xxxviii.  Time. — Or- 
ganizations are  mortal ;  the  seal  of  death  is  fixed  on 
them  even  at  birth.  The  young  future  is  nurtured  by 
the  past,  yet  aspires  to  a  nobler  life,  and  revises  in  his 
maturity  the  traditions  and  usages  of  his  day,  to  be 
supplanted  by  the  sons  and  daughters  whom  he  begets 
and  ennobles.  Time,  like  fabled  Saturn,  now  generates, 
and,  ere  even  their  sutures  be  closed,  devours  his  own 
offspring.  Only  the  children  of  the  soul  are  immortal ; 
the  births  of  time  are  premature  and  perishable.  .  ,  . 
XLViii.  Beauty. — All  departures  from  perfect  beauty  are 
degradations  of  the  divine  image.  God  is  the  one  type 
which  the  soul  strives  to  incarnate  in  all  organizations. 
Varieties  are  historical ;  the  one  form  embodies  all 
forms  ;  all  having  a  common  likeness  at  the  base  of 
difference.  Human  heads  are  images,  more  or  less 
perfect,  of  the  soul's  or  God's  head.  But  the  divine 
features  do  not  fix  in  flesh,  in  the  coarse  and  brittle  clay. 
Beauty  is  fluent ;  art  of  the  highest  order  represents 
her  always  in  flux,  giving  fluency  and  motion  to  bodies 
solid  and  immovable  to  sense.  The  line  of  beauty 
symbolizes  motion.  .  .  .  lxix.  Popularity. — The  saints 
are  alone  popular  in  heaven,  not  on  earth  ;  elect  of 
God,  they  are  spurned   by  the  world.     They  hate  their 


238  AMOS  BRO.VSON'  ALCOTT 

age,  its  awards,  their  own  affections  even,  save  as  those 
unite  them  with  justice,  with  valor,  with  God.  Whoso 
loves  father  or  mother,  wife  or  child,  houses  or  lands, 
pleasures  or  honors,  or  life,  more  than  these,  is  an 
idolater,  and  worships  the  idols  of  sense  ;  his  life  is 
death  ;  his  love  hate  ;  his  friends  foes  ;  his  fame  in- 
famy. ,  .  .  Lxx.  Getiius  and  Sanctity. — A  man's  period 
is  according  to  the  directness  and  intensity  of  his  light. 
Not  erudition,  not  taste,  not  intellect,  but  character, 
describes  his  orbit,  and  determines  the  worlds  he  shall 
enlighten.  Genius  and  sanctity  cast  no  shadow  ;  like 
the  sun  at  broad  noon,  the  ray  of  these  orbs  pours 
direct  intense  on  the  world,  and  they  are  seen  in  their 
own  light.  .  .  .  Lxxiii.  Barrenness. — Opinions  are  Life 
in  foliage  ;  deeds  in  fruitage.  Always  was  the  fruitless 
tree  accursed.  .  .  .  lxxxiii.  Retribution. — The  laws  of 
the  soul  and  of  nature  are  forecast  and  pre-ordained 
in  the  spirit  of  God  and  are  ever  executing  themselves 
through  conscience  in  man,  and  gravity  in  things. 
Man's  body  and  the  world  are  organs  through  which 
the  retributions  of  the  spiritual  universe  are  justified 
to  reason  and  sense.  Disease  and  misfortune  are  mem- 
oranda of  violations  of  the  divine  law,  written  in  the 
letter  of  pain  and  evil.  .  .  .  lxxxvii.  Tradition. — 
Tradition  suckles  the  young  ages,  who  imbibe  health 
or  disease,  insight  or  ignorance,  valor  or  pusillanimity, 
as  the  stream  of  life  flows  down,  from  urns  of  sobriety 
or  luxury,  from  times  of  wisdom  or  folly,  honor  or 
shame.  .  .  .  xcvii.  Immortality. — It  is  because  the  soul 
is  immortal  that  all  her  organs  decease,  and  are  again 
renewed.  Growth  and  decay,  sepulture  and  resurrec- 
tion, tread  fast  on  the  heels  of  the  other.  Birth  en- 
tombs death ;  death  encradles  birth.  The  incorruptible 
is  ever  putting  off  corruption  ;  the  immortal  mortality. 
Nature,  indeed,  is  but  the  ashes  of  the  departed  soul  ; 
and  the  body  her  urn.  .  .  .  c.  Silence. — Silence  is  the 
initiative  to  wisdom.  Wit  is  silent,  and  justifies  her 
children  by  their  reverence  of  the  voiceless  oracles 
of  the  breast.  Inspiration  is  dumb,  a  listener  to  the 
oracles  during  her  nonage  ;  suddenly  she  speaks,  to 
mock  the  emptiness  of  all  speech.  Silence  is  the  dialect 
of  heaven  ;  the  utterance  of  the  gods. — Orphic  Sayings. 


LOUISA    M.    ALCOTT. 


ALCOTT,  Louisa  May,  an  American  author, 
daughter  of  Amos  B.  Alcott,  born  at  German- 
town,  Pa.,  November  29,  1832  ;  died  at  Boston, 
Mass.,  March  6,  1888.  Her  earliest  work,  Fairy 
Tales,  was  published  in  1855.  During  the  early 
part  of  the  Civil  War  she  acted  as  a  hospital  nurse, 
and  in  1863  issued  a  volume  of  Hospital  Sketches 
made  up  from  letters  which  she  had  written  to 
her  friends  at  home.  About  this  time  she  became 
a  contributor  to  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  and  began 
her  distinctive  career  as  a  writer  of  books  about 
young  people  and  for  young  people.  The  princi- 
pal of  these  are:  Moods  (1864),  Morning  Glories 
(1867),  Little  Women  (1868),  which  was  her  first 
decided  success ;  An  Old-fashioned  Girl  (1869), 
Little  Men  (1871),  Work  (1873),  Eight  Cousins 
(1875),  and  its  sequel.  Rose  in  Bloom  (1877),  which, 
perhaps,  rank  first  among  her  books ;  Under  the 
Lilacs  (1878),  Jack  and  Jill,  (1880),  Spinning-wheel 
Stories  (1884),  Jo's  Boys  (1886),  and  Comic  Tragedies 
(1893).  Besides  these  she  put  forth  at  different 
times  several  volumes  of  short  stories,  among 
which  are  Cupid  and  Chow-chow,  Silver  Pitchers, 
and  Aunt  Joe's  Scrap-bag.  Speaking  of  the  stories 
of  Miss  Alcott,  Charles  F.  Richardson,  in  his 
American  Literature,  says:  "Their  fresh  and  staid 
spirit — for  childhood  is  demure  as  well  as  frolic- 
some— make  them  acceptable  to  adults  and  chii- 


240  LOUISA    MA  Y  ALCOTT 

dren  alike.  Miss  Alcott's  wholesome  young  New 
England  girls  and  boys  represent  types,  at  least, 
which  will  remain,  in  fact  and  in  fiction,  long  after 
her  essentially  ephemeral  books  are  forgotten." 

MEG,    JO,    BETH,    AND    AMY. 

"Christmas  won't  be  Christmas  without  any  presents," 
grumbled  Jo,  lying  on  the  rug. 

"  It's  so  dreadful  to  be  poor,"  sighed  Meg,  looking 
down  at  her  old  dress. 

''I  don't  think  it's  fair  for  some  girls  to  have  plenty 
of  pretty  things,  and  others  nothing  at  all,"  added  little 
Amy,  with  an  injured  sniff. 

"  We've  got  father  and  mother,"  said  Beth,  content- 
edly, from  her  corner. 

The  four  young  faces  on  which  the  firelight  shone 
brightened  at  the  cheerful  words,  but  darkened  again 
as  Jo  said,  sadly  : 

"  We  haven't  got  father,  and  shall  not  have  him  for  a 
long  time."  She  didn't  say  "  perhaps  never,"  but  each 
silently  added  it,  thinking  of  father  far  away,  where  the 
fighting  was. 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  minute  ;  then  Meg  said,  in  an 
altered  tone  : 

"  You  know  the  reason  mother  proposed  not  having 
jny  presents  this  Christmas  was  because  it  is  going  to 
be  a  hard  winter  for  everyone  ;  and  she  thinks  we 
ought  not  to  spend  money  for  pleasure,  when  our  men 
are  suffering  so  in  the  army.  We  can't  do  much,  but 
we  can  make  our  little  sacrifices,  and  ought  to  do  it 
gladly.  But  I  am  afraid  I  don't  ;  "  and  Meg  shook  her 
head,  as  she  thought  regretfully  of  all  the  pretty  things 
she  wanted. 

"  But  I  don't  think  the  little  we  should  spend  would 
do  any  good.  We've  each  got  a  dollar,  and  the  army 
wouldn't  be  much  helped  by  our  giving  that,  I  agree 
not  to  expect  anything  from  mother  or  you  ;  but  I  do 
want  to  buy  Undine  and  Sintrajn  for  myself  ;  I've  wanted 
it  so  long,"  said  Jo,  who  was  a  bookworm. 

"I  planned  to  spend  mine  in  n"w  music,"  said  Beth, 


LOUISA    MAY  ALCOTT  241 

with  a  little  sigh  which  no  one  heard  but  the  hearth- 
brush  and  the  kettle-holder. 

"  I  shall  get  a  nice  box  of  Faber's  drawing-pencils  ;  I 
really  need  them,"  said  Amy,  decidedly. 

*'  Mother  didn't  say  anything  about  our  money,  and 
she  won't  wish  us  to  give  up  everything.  Let's  each 
buy  what  we  want,  and  have  a  little  fun  ;  I'm  sure  we 
work  hard  enough  to  earn  it,"  cried  Jo,  examining  the 
heels  of  her  boots  in  a  gentlemanly  manner. 

"  I  know  /  do — teaching  those  tiresome  children 
nearly  all  day,  when  I'm  longing  to  enjoy  myself  at 
home,"  began  Meg,  in  the  complaining  tone  again. 

"  You  don't  have  half  such  a  hard  time  as  I  do,"  said 
Jo.  "  How  would  you  like  to  be  shut  up  for  hours 
with  a  fussy,  nervous  old  lady,  who  keeps  you  trotting, 
is  never  satisfied,  and  worries  you  till  you're  ready  to 
fly  out  of  the  window  or  cry  ?  " 

"  It's  naughty  to  fret ;  but  I  do  think  washing  dishes, 
and  keeping  things  tidy,  is  the  worst  work  in  the  world. 
It  makes  me  cross  ;  and  my  hands  get  so  stiff,  I  can't 
practise  well  at  all  ;  "  and  Beth  looked  at  her  rough 
hands,  with  a  sigh  that  anyone  could  hear  that  time. 

"I  don't  believe  any  of  you  suffer  as  I  do,"  cried 
Amy  ;  "for  you  don't  have  to  go  to  school  with  imper- 
tinent girls,  who  plague  you  if  you  don't  know  your  les- 
sons, and  laugh  at  your  dresses,  and  label  your  father  if 
he  isn't  rich,  and  insult  you  when  your  nose  isn't  nice," 

"  If  you  mean  libel,  I'd  say  so,  and  not  talk  about 
labels,  as  if  papa  was  a  pickle-bottle,"  advised  Jo,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  know  what  I  mean,  and  you  needn't  be  statirical 
about  it.  It's  proper  to  use  good  words,  and  improve 
your  vocabilary"  returned  Amy,  with  dignity. 

"  Don't  peck  at  one  another,  children.  Don't  you 
wish  we  had  the  money  papa  lost  when  we  were  little, 
Jo  ?  Dear  me  !  how  happy  and  good  we'd  be,  if  we 
had  no  worries  !  "  said  Meg,  who  could  remember  better 
times. 

"You  said,  the  other  day,  you  thought  we  were  a 
deal  happier  than  the  King  children,  for  they  were 
fighting  and  fretting  all  the  time,  in  spite  of  their 
money." 

Vol.  I.- 16 


242  LOUISA   MAY  ALCOTT 

"  So  I  did,  Beth.  Well,  I  think  we  are  ;  for  though 
we  have  to  work,  we  make  fun  for  ourselves,  and  are  a 
pretty  jolly  set,  as  Jo  would  say." 

"Jo  does  use  such  slang  words!"  observed  Amy, 
with  a  reproving  look  at  the  long  figure  stretched  on 
the  rug.  Jo  immediately  sat  up,  put  her  hands  in  her 
pockets,  and  began  to  whistle. 

"  Don't,  Jo  ;  it's  so  boyish  !  " 

"That's  why  I  do  it." 

**  I  detest  rude,  unladylike  girls  !  " 

"  I  hate  affected  niminy-piminy  chits  !  " 

"'Birds  in  their  little  nests  agree,'"  sang  Beth,  the 
peace-maker,  with  such  a  funny  face  that  both  sharp 
voices  softened  to  a  laugh,  and  the  "pecking  "  ended 
for  that  time. 

"  Really,  girls,  you  are  both  to  be  blamed,"  said  Meg, 
beginning  to  lecture  in  her  elder-sisterly  fashion.  "  You 
are  old  enough  to  leave  off  boyish  tricks,  and  to  behave 
better,  Josephine.  It  didn't  matter  so  much  when  you 
were  a  little  girl  ;  but  now  you  are  so  tall,  and  turn  up 
your  hair,  you  should  remember  that  you  are  a  young 
lady." 

"I'm  not !  and  if  turning  up  my  hair  makes  me  one, 
I'll  wear  it  in  two  tails  till  I'm  twenty,"  cried  Jo,  pulling 
off  her  net,  and  shaking  down  a  chestnut  mane.  "  I 
hate  to  think  I've  got  to  grow  up,  and  be  Miss  March, 
and  wear  long  gowns,  and  look  as  prim  as  a  China- As- 
ter !  It's  bad  enough  to  be  a  girl  anyway,  when  I  like 
boys'  games  and  work  and  manners  !  I  can't  get  over 
my  disappointment  in  not  being  a  boy,  and  it's  worse 
than  ever  now,  for  I'm  dying  to  go  and  fight  with  papa, 
and  I  can  only  stay  at  home  and  knit,  like  a  pokey  old 
woman  !  "  And  Jo  shook  the  blue  army  sock  till  the 
needles  rattled  like  castanets,  and  her  ball  bounded 
across  the  room. 

"  Poor  Jo  !  It's  too  bad,  but  it  can't  be  helped  ;  so 
you  must  be  contented  with  making  your  name  boyish, 
and  playing  brother  to  us  girls,"  said  Beth,  stroking  the 
rough  head  at  her  knee,  with  a  hand  that  all  the  dish- 
washing in  the  world  could  not  make  ungentle  in  its 
<-«uch- 

"As  for  you,  Amy,"  continued  Meg,  "you  are  alto- 


I 


LOUISA   MAY  ALCOTT  243 

gather  too  particular  and  prim.  Your  airs  are  funny 
now  ;  but  you'll  grow  up  an  affected  little  goose,  if  you 
don't  take  care.  I  like  your  nice  manners  and  refined 
ways  of  speaking,  when  you  don't  try  to  be  elegant ; 
but  your  absurd  words  are  as  bad  as  Jo's  slang." 

"  If  Jo  is  a  tomboy  and  Amy  a  goose,  what  am  I, 
please  ?  "  asked  Beth,  ready  to  share  the  lecture. 

*'  You're  a  dear,  and  nothing  else,"  answered  Meg, 
warmly  ;  and  no  one  contradicted  her,  for  the  "  Mouse  " 
was  the  pet  of  the  family. 

The  clock  struck  six  ;  and  having  swept  up  the  hearth, 
Beth  put  a  pair  of  slippers  down  to  warm.  Somehow 
the  sight  of  the  old  shoes  had  a  good  effect  upon  the 
girls  ;  for  mother  was  coming,  and  everyone  brightened 
to  welcome  her.  Meg  stopped  lecturing,  and  lighted 
the  lamp  ;  Amy  got  out  of  the  easy-chair  without  being 
asked  ;  and  Jo  forgot  how  tired  she  was,  as  she  sat  up 
to  hold  the  slippers  nearer  to  the  blaze. 

"  They  are  quite  worn  out ;  Marmee  must  have  a 
new  pair." 

"  I  thought  I'd  get  her  some  with  my  dollar,"  said 
Beth. 

"No, /shall  !"  cried  Amy. 

"I'm  the  oldest,"  began  Meg;  but  Jo  cut  in  with  a 
decided 

"  I'm  the  man  of  the  family  now  papa  is  away,  and  2 
shall  provide  the  slippers,  for  he  told  me  to  take  special 
care  of  mother  while  he  was  gone." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Beth  ;  "  let's  each 
get  her  something  for  Christmas,  and  not  get  anything 
for  ourselves." 

"  That's  like  you,  dear !  What  will  we  get  ? "  ex- 
claimed Jo. 

Everyone  thought  soberly  for  a  minute ;  then  Meg 
announced,  as  if  the  idea  was  suggested  by  the  sight  of 
her  own  pretty  hands,  "I  shall  give  her  a  nice  pair  of 
gloves." 

''Army  shoes — the  best  to  be  had,"  cried  Jo. 

•'  Some  handkerchiefs,  all  hemmed,"  said  Beth. 

'•  I'll  get  a  little  bottle  of  cologne  ;  she  likes  it,  and 
it  won't  cost  much,  so  I'll  have  some  left  to  buy  my 
pencils,"  ailded  Amy. 


244  LOUISA   MAY  ALCOTT 

"How  will  we  give  the  things?"  asked  Meg, 

"  Put  them  on  the  table,  and  bring  her  in,  and  see  her 
open  the  bundles.  Don't  you  remember  how  we  used 
to  do  on  our  birthdays  ?  "  answered  Jo. 

"  I  used  to  be  so  frightened  when  it  was  my  turn  to 
sit  in  the  big  chair  with  the  crown  on,  and  see  you  all 
come  marching  round  to  give  the  presents  with  a  kiss. 
I  liked  the  things  and  the  kisses  ;  but  it  was  dreadful 
to  have  you  sit  looking  at  me  while  I  opened  the  bun- 
dles," said  Beth,  who  was  toasting  her  face  and  the 
bread  for  tea,  at  the  same  time. 

"  Let  Marmee  think  we  are  getting  things  for  our- 
selves, and  then  surprise  her.  We  must  go  shopping 
to-morrow  afternoon,  Meg ;  there  is  so  much  to  do 
about  the  play  for  Christmas  night,"  said  Jo,  marching 
up  and  down,  with  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  her 
nose  in  the  air. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  act  any  more  after  this  time ;  I'm 
getting  too  old  for  such  things,"  observed  Meg,  who 
was  as  much  a  child  as  ever  about  "  dressing-up  "  frolics. 

"  You  won't  stop,  I  know,  as  long  as  you  can  trail 
round  in  a  white  gown  with  your  hair  down,  and  wear 
gold-paper  jewelry.  You  are  the  best  actress  we've 
got,  and  there'll  be  an  end  of  everything  if  you  quit  the 
boards,"  said  Jo.  "We  ought  to  rehearse  to-night. 
Come  here,  Amy,  and  do  the  fainting  scene,  for  you  are 
as  stiff  as  a  poker  in  that." 

"  I  can't  help  it ;  I  never  saw  anyone  faint,  and  I 
don't  choose  to  make  myself  all  black-and-blue,  tumb- 
ling fiat  as  you  do.  If  I  can  go  down  easily,  I'll  drop ; 
if  I  can't,  I  shall  fall  into  a  chair  and  be  graceful;  I 
don't  care  if  Hugo  does  come  at  me  with  a  pistol,"  re- 
turned Amy,  who  was  not  gifted  with  dramatic  power, 
but  was  chosen  because  she  was  small  enough  to  be 
borne  out  shrieking  by  the  villain  of  the  piece. 

"  Do  it  this  way :  clasp  your  hands  so,  and  stagger 
across  the  room,  crying,  frantically,  '  Roderigo !  Save 
me !  Save  me ! '  "  and  away  went  Jo,  with  a  melo- 
dramatic scream  which  was  truly  thrilling. 

Amy  followed,  but  she  poked  her  hands  out  stiffly  be- 
fore her,  and  jerked  herself  along  as  if  she  went  by  ma- 
chinery ;  and  her  "  Ow  !  "  was  more  suggestive  of  pins 


LOUISA   MAY  ALCOTT  245 

being  run  into  her  than  of  fear  and  anguish,  Jo  gave  a 
despairing  groan,  and  Meg  laughed  outright,  while  Beth 
let  her  bread  burn  as  she  watched  the  fun,  with  interest. 

"  It's  no  use !  Do  the  best  you  can  when  the  time 
comes,  and  if  the  audience  laugh,  don't  blame  me.  Come 
on,  Meg." 

Then  things  went  on  smoothly  ;  for  Don  Pedro  defied 
the  world  in  a  speech  of  two  pages,  without  a  single 
break  ;  Hagar,  the  witch,  chanted  an  awful  incantation 
over  her  kettleful  of  simmering  toads,  with  weird  effect; 
Roderigo  rent  his  chains  asunder  manfully;  and  Hugo 
died  in  agonies  of  remorse  and  arsenic,  with  a  wild  "  Ha  J 
ha!" 

"  It's  the  best  we've  had  yet,"  said  Meg,  as  the  dead 
villain  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  elbows. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  write  and  act  such  splendid 
things,  Jo.  You're  a  regular  Shakespeare !  "  exclaimed 
Beth,  who  firmly  believed  that  her  sisters  were  gifted 
with  wonderful  genius  in  all  things. 

*'  Not  quite,"  replied  Jo,  modestly.  *'  I  do  think  "  The 
Witch's  Curse,  an  Operatic  Tragedy,"  is  rather  a  nice 
thing;  but  I'd  like  to  try  "Macbeth,"  if  we  only  had 
a  trap-door  for  Banquo.  I  always  wanted  to  do  the 
killing  part.  *  Is  that  a  dagger  that  I  see  before  me  ? '  " 
muttered  Jo,  rolling  her  eyes  and  clutching  the  air,  as 
she  had  seen  a  famous  tragedian  do. 

"  No,  it's  the  toasting-fork,  with  mother's  shoe  on  it 
instead  of  the  bread.  Beth's  stage-struck  !  "  cried  Meg, 
and  the  rehearsal  ended  in  a  general  burst  of  laughter. 
— Little  Women. 

WHAT    THE    SWALLOWS   DID. 

A  man  lay  on  a  pile  of  new-made  hay,  in  a  great  barn, 
looking  up  at  the  swallows  who  darted  and  twittered 
above  him.  He  envied  the  cheerful  little  creatures;  for 
he  wasn't  a  happy  man,  though  he  had  many  friends, 
much  money,  and  the  beautiful  gift  of  writing  songs 
that  everybody  loved  to  sing.  He  had  lost  his  wife  and 
little  child,  and  would  not  be  comforted ;  but  lived 
alone,  and  went  about  vvith  such  a  gloomy  face  that  no 
one  liked  to  speak  to  him.  He  took  no  notice  of  friends 
and  neighbors ;  neither  used  his  money  for  himself  nor 


246  LOUISA   MA  V  ALCOTT 

Others  ;  found  no  beauty  in  the  world,  no  happiness  anj^- 
where  ;  and  wrote  such  sad  songs  it  made  one's  heart 
ache  to  sing  them.  As  he  lay  alone  on  the  sweet- 
smelling  hay,  with  the  afternoon  sunshine  streaming  in, 
and  the  busy  birds  chirping  overhead,  he  said,  sadly,  to 
himself : 

"  Happy  swallows,  I  wish  I  was  one  of  you  ;  for  you 
have  no  pains  nor  sorrows,  and  your  cares  are  very 
light.  All  Summer  you  live  gayly  together ;  and  when 
Winter  comes,  you  fly  away  to  the  lovely  South,  unsep- 
arated  still." 

"Neighbors,  do  you  hear  what  that  lazy  creature 
down  there  is  saying?"  cried  a  Swallow,  peeping  over 
the  edge  of  her  nest,  and  addressing  several  others  who 
sat  on  a  beam  near  by. 

"We  hear,  Mrs.  Skim,  and  quite  agree  with  you  that 
he  knows  very  little  about  us  and  our  affairs,"  answered 
one  of  the  swallows,  with  a  sprite  chirp,  like  a  scornful 
laugh.  "We  work  harder  than  he  does  any  day.  Did 
he  build  his  own  house,  I  should  like  to  know  "i  Does 
he  get  his  daily  bread  for  himself  ?  How  many  of  his 
neighbors  does  he  help?  How  much  of  the  world  does 
he  see,  and  who  is  the  happier  for  his  being  alive?" 

"Cares,  indeed!"  cried  another;  "I  wish  he'd  under- 
take to  feed  and  teach  my  brood.  Much  he  knows 
about  the  anxieties  of  a  parent !"  And  the  little  mother 
bustled  away  to  get  supper  for  the  young  ones,  whose 
bills  were  always  gaping  wide. 

"  Sorrows  we  have  too,"  softly  sighed  the  fourth  swal- 
low. "He  would  not  envy  me,  if  he  knew  how  my  nest 
fell,  and  all  my  children  were  killed  ;  how  my  dear  hus- 
band was  shot,  and  my  old  mother  died  of  fatigue  on 
our  Spring  journey  from  the  South." 

"  Dear  Neighbor  Dart,  he  ivould envy  you,  if  he  knew 
how  patiently  you  bear  your  troubles;  how  tenderly  you 
help  us  with  our  little  ones;  how  cheerfully  you  serve 
your  friends;  how  faithfully  you  love  your  lost  mate; 
and  how  trustfully  you  wait  to  meet  him  again  in  a  love- 
lier country  than  the  South." 

As  Skim  spoke,  she  leaned  down  from  her  nest  to  kiss 
her  neighbor ;  and  as  the  little  beaks  met,  the  other 
birds  gave  a  grateful  and  approving  murmur  ;  for  Neigh- 


LOUISA   MA  V  ALCOTT  247 

bor  Dart  was  much  beloved  by  all  the  inhabitants  of 
Twittertown. 

"  I,  for  my  part,  don't  envy  him,''  said  Gossip  Wing, 
who  was  fond  of  speaking  her  mind,  "Men  and  women 
call  themselves  superior  beings  ;  but  upon  my  word,  I 
think  they  are  vastly  inferior  to  us.  Now  look  at  that 
man,  and  see  how  he  wastes  his  life.  There  never 
was  anyone  with  a  better  chance  for  doing  good  ;  and 
yet  he  mopes  and  dawdles  his  time  away  most  shame- 
fully." 

"Ah!  he  has  had  a  great  sorrow,  and  it  is  hard  to  be 
gay  with  a  heavy  heart,  an  empty  home  ;  so  don't  be  too 
severe.  Sister  Wing,"  and  the  white  tie  of  the  little 
widow's  cap  was  stirred  by  a  long  sigh,  as  Mrs.  Dart 
glanced  up  at  the  nook  where  her  nest  once  stood. 

"No,  my  dear,  I  won't;  but  really  I  do  get  out  of 
patience  when  I  see  so  much  real  misery  which  that 
man  might  help,  if  he'd  only  forget  himself  a  little.  It's 
my  opinion  he'd  be  much  happier  than  he  now  is,  wan- 
dering about  with  a  dismal  face  and  a  sour  temper." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you;  and  I  dare  say  he'd  thank 
anyone  for  telling  him  how  he  may  find  comfort.  Poor 
soul !  I  wish  he  could  understand  me  ;  for  I  sympathize 
with  him,  and  would  gladly  help  him  if  I  could." 

And,  as  she  spoke,  kind-hearted  Widow  Dart 
skimmed  by  him  with  a  friendly  chirp  which  did  com- 
fort him  ;  for — being  a  poet — he  <r^/^A/ understand  them, 
and  lay  listening,  well  pleased  while  the  little  gossips 
chattered  on  together. 

"  I  am  so  tried  at  home  just  now,  that  I  know  noth- 
ing of  what  is  going  on,  except  the  bits  of  news  Skim 
brings  me  ;  so  I  enjoy  your  chat  immensely.  I'm  inter- 
ested in  your  views  on  this  subject,  and  beg  you'll  tell 
me  what  you'd  have  that  man  do  to  better  himself," 
said  Mrs.  Skim,  settling  herself  on  her  eggs  with  an  at- 
tentive air. 

"Well,  my  dear,  I'll  tell  you  ;  for  I've  seen  a  deal  of 
the  world,  and  anyone  is  welcome  to  my  experi- 
ence," replied  Mrs.  Wing,  in  an  important  manner; 
for  she  was  proud  of  her  "views,"  and  very  fond  of 
talking.  "  In  my  daily  flights  about  the  place,  I  see  a 
great  deal  of   poverty  and  trouble,  and   often  wish  I 


248  LOUISA   MAY  ALCOTT 

could  lend  a  hand.  Now  this  man  has  plenty  of  vaoXit-i 
and  time  ;  and  he  might  do  more  good  than  I  can  tell,  if 
he'd  only  set  about  it.  Because  he  is  what  they  call  a 
poet  is  no  reason  he  should  go  moaning  up  and  down, 
as  if  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  make  songs.  We  sing,  but 
we  work  also,  and  are  wise  enough  to  see  the  necessity 
of  both,  thank  goodness  ! " 

"Yes,  indeed  we  do,"  cried  all  the  birds  in  a  chorus  ; 
for  several  more  had  stopped  to  hear  what  was  going 
on. 

"  Now,  what  I  say  is  this,"  continued  Mrs.  Wing,  im- 
pressively :  "  If  I  were  that  man,  I'd  make  myself  use- 
ful at  once.  There  is  poor  litt'e  Will  getting  more 
and  more  lame  every  day  because  his  mother  can't  send 
him  where  he  can  be  cured.  A  trifle  of  that  man's 
money  would  do  it,  and  he  ought  to  give  it.  Old  Father 
Winter  is  half-starved,  alone  there  in  his  miserable 
hovel,  and  no  one  thinks  of  the  good  old  man.  Why 
don't  that  lazy  creature  take  him  home,  and  care  for 
him,  the  little  while  he  has  to  live?  Pretty  Nell  is 
working  day  and  night  to  support  her  father,  and  is  too 
proud  to  ask  help,  though  her  health  and  courage  are 
going  fast.  The  man  might  make  her's  the  gayest 
heart  alive  by  a  little  help.  There  in  a  lonely  garret 
!ives  a  young  man  studying  his  life  away,  longing  for 
books  and  a  teacher.  The  man  has  a  library  full,  and 
might  keep  the  poor  boy  from  despair  by  a  little  help 
and  a  friendly  word.  He  mourns  for  his  own  lost  baby  ; 
I  advise  him  to  adopt  the  orphan  whom  nobody  will 
own,  and  who  lies  wailing  all  day  on  the  poor-house 
floor.  Yes ;  if  he  wants  to  forget  sorrow  and  find 
peace,  let  him  fill  his  empty  heart  and  home  with  such 
as  these,  and  life  won't  seem  dark  to  him  any  more." 

"  Dear  me !  how  well  you  express  yourself,  Mrs. 
Wing  !  it's  quite  a  pleasure  to  hear  you  ;  and  I  heartily 
wish  some  persons  could  hear  you  ;  it  would  do  'em  a 
deal  of  good,"  said  Mrs.  Skim  ;  while  her  husband  gave 
an  approving  nod,  as  he  dived  off  the  beam,  and  van- 
ished through  the  open  doors. 

"  I  know  it  would  comfort  that  man  to  do  these 
things  ;  for  I  have  tried  the  same  cure  in  my  small  way, 
and  found  great  satisfaction  in  it,"  began  little  Madam 


LOUISA   MA  Y  ALCOTT  249 

Dart,  in  her  soft  voice  ;  but  Mrs.  Wing  broke  in,  say- 
ing, witli  a  pious  expression  of  countenance  : 

"  I  flew  into  cliurch  one  day,  and  sat  on  tlie  organ, 
enjoying  the  music,  for  everyone  was  singing,  and  I 
joined  in,  though  I  didn't  know  the  air.  Opposite  me 
were  two  great  tablets  with  golden  letters  on  them. 
I  can  read  a  little — thanks  to  my  friend,  the  Learned 
Raven — and  so  I  spelt  out  some  of  the  words.  One 
was  *  Love  thy  Neighbor  ;'  and,  as  I  sat  there,  looking 
down  on  the  people,  I  wondered  how  they  could  see 
those  words  week  after  week,  and  yet  pay  so  little  heed 
to  them.  Goodness  knows,  I  don't  consider  myself  a 
perfect  bird ;  far  from  it  ;  for  I  know  I  am  a  poor, 
erring  fowl  ;  but  I  may  say  I  do  love  my  neighbor, 
though  I  am  an  inferior  creature."  And  Mrs.  Wing 
bridled  up,  as  if  she  enjoyed  the  phrase  immensely. 

"Indeed  you  do.  Gossip,"  cried  Dart  and  Skim  ;  for 
Wing  was  an  excellent  bird,  in  spite  of  the  good  opinion 
she  had  of  herself. 

"  Thank  you.  Well,  then,  such  being  the  known  fact, 
I  may  give  advice  on  the  subject,  as  one  having  au- 
thority ;  and,  if  it  were  possible,  I'd  give  that  man  a  bit 
of  my  mind." 

"  You  have,  Madam,  you  have  ;  and  I  shall  not  for- 
get it.  Thank  you.  Neighbors,  and  Good-Night,"  said 
the  man,  as  he  left  the  barn,  with  the  first  smile  on  his 
face  which  it  had  worn  for  many  days. 

*'  Mercy  on  us  !  I  do  believe  the  creature  heard  every 
word  we  said,"  cried  Mrs.  Wing,  nearly  tumbling  off  her 
beam,  in  her  surprise. 

"  He  certainly  did  ;  so  I'm  glad  I  was  guarded  in  my 
remarks,"  replied  Mrs.  Skim,  laughing  at  her  neighbor's 
dismay. 

"  Dear  me  !  dear  me !  what  did  I  say  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Wing,  in  a  great  twitter. 

"You  spoke  with  more  than  your  usual  bluntness, 
and  some  of  your  expressions  were  rather  strong,  I 
must  confess  ;  but  I  don't  think  any  harm  will  come  of 
it.  We  are  of  too  little  consequence  for  our  criticisms 
or  opinions  to  annoy  him,"  said  Mrs.  Dart,  consolingly. 

"I  don't  know  .that.  Ma'am,"  returned  Mrs.  Wing 
sharply ;  for  she  was  much  ruffled  and  out  of  temper. 


250 


LOUISA  MA  V  ALcorr 


"A  cat  may  look  at  a  king;  and  a  bird  may  teach  a 
man,  if  the  bird  is  the  wisest.  He  may  destroy  my 
nest,  and  take  my  life ;  but  I  feel  that  I  have  done  my 
duty,  and  shall  meet  affliction  with  a  firmness  which 
will  be  an  example  to  that  indolent,  ungrateful  man." 

In  spite  of  her  boasted  firmness,  Mrs.  Wing  dropped 
her  voice,  and  peeped  over  the  beam,  to  be  sure  the 
man  was  gone  before  she  called  him  names  ;  and  then 
flew  away  to  discover  what  he  meant  to  do  aboui  it.— 
Morning  Glories, 


ALCUIN,  a  distinguished  clergyman  and  schol- 
ar, born  at  York,  England,  in  735.  Here  he  received 
*?.is  education,  under  the  supervision  of  Archbishop 
Egbert  (as  he  has  informed  us),  whom  he  inti- 
mately designated  as  his  beloved  master,  and  he 
had  for  his  companions  in  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge the  prelates  of  York.  He  planned  his  cele- 
brated School  at  Tours  after  the  seminary  of  which 
he  had  once  been  a  director,  having  succeeded 
Egbert  in  this  position.  It  is  hardly  conceivable 
that  he  could  have  received  any  instruction 
from  Bede  (whom  he  outlived  by  seventy  years), 
as  some  say ;  and  it  is  also  a  noteworthy  fact  that 
he  never  referred  to  Bede  as  his  master,  although 
he  spoke  of  him  in  the  highest  terms.  It  is  not 
known  what  positions  he  held  in  the  Church  prior 
to  his  leaving  England,  though  he  is  claimed  to 
have  been  Abbot  of  Canterbury.  Eanbald,  the 
successor  of  Ethelbert,  sent  him  to  Rome  to 
secure  the  pallium,  and  on  his  return  he  met 
Charlemagne  at  Parma,  who,  having  become  ac- 
quainted with  the  unusual  talent  of  Alcuin,  to 
whom  he  had  been  previously  introduced  at  the 
French  Court,  earnestly  entreated  Alcuin,  and 
finally  prevailed  upon  him,  to  become  his  pre- 
ceptor in  the  sciences,  which  position  he  occupied 
in  782,  making  the  Court  his  place  of  residence. 
He  was  the  means  in    Charlemagne's  hands   of 


252  ALCUIiV 

promoting  the  latter's  plans  for  ecclesiastical  and 
educational  reform,  which  Charlemagne  was  so 
desirous  of  effecting.  Charlemagne  and  his 
family  also  received  the  benefit  of  Alcuin's  knowl- 
edge of  rhetoric,  logic,  mathematics,  and  divinity. 
In  794,  at  the  Council  of  Frankfort,  which  body 
condemned  adoptionism,  he  led  the  opposition  ; 
and  in  799  he  brought  himself  into  particular 
prominence  by  his  writings  in  defence  of  the 
orthodox  faith  against  the  adoptionists,  Felix, 
Bishop  of  Urgel,  and  Elipandus,  Archbishop  of 
Toledo,  forcing  the  Bishop  to  acknowledge  his 
mistake  after  a  six  days'  discussion  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  and  treating  the  Archbishop  in  the  most 
conciliatory  manner.  On  a  number  of  occasions 
Charlemagne  entrusted  him  with  important  mis- 
sions between  the  former  and  the  King  of  Mercia, 
Offa.  Alcuin's  writings  treat  of  numerous  sub- 
jects, among  which  are  theology,  history,  gram- 
mar, rhetoric,  orthography,  dialectics,  etc.,  and 
a  revision  of  the  Vulgate  in  1802,  as  well  as  his 
poetical  works. 

A  prominent  writer  says:  "France  is  indebted 
to  Alcuin  for  all  the  polite  learning  it  boasted  of 
in  that  and  the  following  ages.  The  Universities 
of  Paris,  Tours,  Fulda,  Soissons,  and  many  others, 
owe  to  him  their  origin  and  increase,  those  of 
which  he  was  not  the  superior  and  founder  being 
at  least  enlightened  by  his  doctrine  and  example, 
and  enriched  by  the  benefits  he  procured  for  them 
from  Charlemagne."  It  is  said  that  Alcuin  re> 
fused  to  permit  the  reading  of  the  classical  poets. 
His  ftrjaJ  visit  to  England  was  made  in  790  as  am- 


ALCUIN  253 

bassador,  which  place  he  filled  until  792.  With 
great  difficulty  Alcuin,  in  801,  managed  to  secure 
permission  to  take  up  his  residence  at  the  Abbey 
of  St.  Martin,  at  Tours,  of  which  he  had  had 
charge  in  796,  where  he  taught  until  his  death, 
May  19,  804.  While  at  the  Abbey  he  was  al- 
ways in  communication  with  Charlemagne,  which 
proves  their  love  of  knowledge  and  religion,  and 
their  energy  and  zealousness  in  contriving  and 
performing  plans  for  their  promotion.  Alcuin's 
composition  was  of  a  higher  order  of  purity  and 
elegance  than  that  of  most  literary  men  of  his 
time.  Duchesne  collected  and  published  his 
works  in  i  vol.  folio,  Paris,  161 7;  Froben  issued  a 
better  edition,  2  vols,  folio,  Ratisbon,  1777.  They 
consist  of  (i)  Tracts  upon  Scripture,  (2)  Tracts  upon 
Doctrine,  Discipline,  and  Morality,  (3)  Historical 
Treatises,  Letters,  and  Poems.  It  is  believed  that  Al- 
cuin was  the  writer  of  the  noted  Caroline  Books, 
published  under  the  name  of  Charlemagne,  which 
held  up  to  execration  image-worship  of  any  form 
as  being  idolatrous.  Lorenz  wrote  a  Life  of  Alctiin, 
which  was  published  by  Halle  in  1829,  and  was 
translated  into  English  by  Slee  in  1837. 

DIALOGUE   ON    THE    VIRTUES. 

Charlemagne. — I  wonder  that  we  Christians  should  so 
often  depart  from  virtue,  though  we  have  eternal  glory 
promised  as  its  recompense  by  Jesus  Christ,  who  is 
Truth  itself ;  whilst  the  heathen  philosophers  steadily 
pursued  it  merely  on  account  of  its  intrinsic  worth, 
and  for  the  sake  of  fame. 

Alcuin. — We  must  rather  deplore  than  wonder,  that 
most   of  us  will   not  be    induced   to   embrace   virtue. 


254  ALCUIN 

either    by   the   fear    of    punishment    or   the   hope   of 
promised  reward. 

Charlemagne. — I  see  it,  and  must,  alas!  acknowledge 
that  there  are  many  such.  I  beg  you,  however,  to 
inform  me  as  briefly  as  possible,  how  we,  as  Christians, 
are  to  understand  and  regard  these  chief  virtues. 

Alcuin. — Does  not  that  appear  to  you  to  be  wisdom, 
whereby  God,  after  the  manner  of  human  understand- 
ing, is  known  and  feared,  and  his  future  judgment  be- 
lieved ? 

Chaflemagne. — I  understand  you ;  and  grant  that 
nothing  is  more  excellent  than  this  wisdom.  I  also 
remember  that  it  is  written  in  Job,  Behold,  the  wisdom  of 
man  is  the  fear  of  God!  And  what  is  the  fear  of  God 
but  the  worship  of  God,  which  in  the  Greek  is  called 
©coo-c/?€ia. 

Alcuin. — It  is  so  :  and  further,  what  is  righteousness 
but  the  love  of  God,  and  the  observance  of  his  com 
mandments  ? 

Charlemagne. — I  perceive  this  also,  and  that  nothing 
Is  more  perfect  than  this  righteousness,  or  rather  thai 
iiere  is  no  other  than  this. 

Alcuin. — Do  you  not  consider  that  to  be  valor  where- 
by a  man  overcomes  the  "  Evil  One,"  and  is  enabled  to 
bear  with  firmness  the  trials  of  the  world  ? 

Charlemagne. — Nothing  appears  to  me  more  glorious 
than  such  a  victory. 

Alcuin. — And  is  not  that  temperance  which  checki 
desire,  restrains  avarice,  and  tranquillizes  and  governs 
all  the  passions  of  the  soul  ? — Slee's  Translation. 


ALDEN,  Henry  Mills,  an  American  editor 
and  author,  born  at  Mt.  Tabor,  Vt.,  in  1836.  He 
graduated  at  Williams  College  in  1857,  and  at  An- 
dover  Theological  Seminary  in  i860.  In  1863-64 
he  lectured  before  the  Lowell  Institute  on  The 
Structure  of  Paganism.  In  1869  he  became  editor 
of  Harper  s  Magazine.  He  is  the  author  of  a  poem, 
The  Ancient  Lady  of  Sorrozv  (1872) ;  of  a  prose  work 
of  great  beauty,  6^(?^  /;/  His  World  {iZgo),  \n  con- 
junction with  Alfred  H.  Guernsey ;  of  Harper's  Pic- 
torial History  of  the  Great  Rebellion  (i  862-65) ;  and  A 
Study  of  Death  (1895),  of  which  work  The  Critic 
says :  "  It  is  a  beautiful  reflection  or  meditation 
on  immortality.  It  is  the  work  of  a  poet  for 
whom  science  is  a  wonderful  parable.  Mr.  Alden, 
it  seems,  is  in  advance  of  others  who  use  the  ar- 
gument from  analogy;  his  very  indifference  to  ar- 
gument and  thesis  gives  him  in  our  eyes  this  ad- 
vantage ;  the  resort  to  mystical  interpretation 
instead  of  conscious  argument  is  a  sign.  Never- 
theless he  does  not  recognize  the  contradiction 
surviving  even  in  his  attitude.  He  is  still  in  the 
aesthetic  state ;  but  practical  Christianity  rather 
than  conscious  sesthetic  Christianity  is  nearer  to 
the  demand  and  spirit  of  to-day." 

THE   VEDIC   HYMNS. 

Such  ministers  were  the}^ — at  once  prophets  and 
poets — in  whose  hearts  were  born  and  on  whose  lips 
blossomed  into  song  the  ancient  Vedic  hymns.    In  these 


256  HENRY  MILLS  ALDEM 

we  come  nearest  to  the  first  beginnings  of  Aryan  faith, 
in  the  face  of  the  sunrise.  These  hymns  for  ages  were 
not  committed  to  writing,  but  were  passed  from  lip  to 
lip,  in  a  living  tradition,  existing  only  as  they  were 
sung — the  direct  utterances  of  a  household  faith,  when 
households  themselves  were  not  as  yet  established  in 
fixed  habitations,  when  life  was  nomadic,  free  as  the 
winds  and  the  streams,  and  immediately  responded  to 
nature.  They  were  chants  sung  at  sacrifices,  in  the 
open  air,  at  sunrise  and  noonday  and  sunset,  but  espe- 
cially at  sunrise,  about  the  family  altar,  v/hen  as  yet 
there  were  no  temples  and  no  fixed  hierarchy.  They 
have  the  naive  simplicity  of  childhood,  frankly  asking  for 
all  material  good — whose  only  delight  is  in  the  using. 
They  are  the  expression  of  a  simple  faith  like  that  of 
the  Psalmist  of  Israel  when  he  singeth,  "  The  Lord  is 
my  shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want."  There  are  heavenly 
folds  this  Shepherd  hath,  corresponding  to  His  earthly 
folds — but  in  the  vision  of  these  prophets  there  is  but 
one  fold,  comprehending  all,  and  one  Shepherd.  Man  is 
inseparably  linked  with  nature.  We  find  here  a  divina- 
tion of  all  that  science  can  ever  disclose,  even  when  it 
shall  have  been  spiritually  informed,  respecting  the  cor- 
relation of  forces.  All  life  is  flame.  The  sun  is  God's 
witness,  the  symbol  of  the  invisible  flame,  which  is  also 
the  principle  of  life  in  all  that  lives,  and  has  its  symbol 
also  in  the  sacrificial  fire. 

Here  also  do  we  find  the  primitive  significance  of 
sacrifice,  which  is  not  a  propitiatory  offering,  but  a  feast, 
where  God,  the  friend,  the  brother,  the  associate  of 
man,  becomes  his  guest.  In  generating  the  sacrificial 
flame  by  the  friction  of  two  pieces  of  wood  (the  arant)^ 
man  is  evoking,  under  his  own  hand,  the  divine  princi- 
ple ;  and  his  offering  of  bread  and  wine  consumed  and 
ascending,  is  received  by  God  as  a  token  of  human  co- 
operation with  Him — of  the  human  life  blending  with 
and  uniting  its  strength  with  the  divine.  There  are  no 
misgivings,  no  expressions  of  fear,  but  only  songs  of 
exultation  because  of  this  intimate  and  sacred  associa- 
tion— a  communion,  in  which  all  the  renewing,  illumi- 
nating strength  of  the  universe  is  concentrated  for  the 
expulsion  of  darkness  and  death. — God  in  His  World. 


HENRY  MILLS  ALDRN  957 

THE   GOSPEL   OF   LOVE. 

The  last  word  of  the  Christ  is  that  we  love  one 
ano*^her ;  and  out  of  this  divine  human  fellowship  must 
be  developed  the  ultimate  Gospel  of  truth.  Of  such  a 
Gospel  we  have  the  brightest  glimpse  in  the  record  of 
early  Christianity.  The  world  is  awaiting  a  new  Pente- 
cost. But  what  embodiment  in  human  economics  this 
new  spiritual  revival  will  take,  we  know  not,  nor  can  we 
be  surt  that  its  bright  light  may  not  again  suffer 
eclipse.  ^Ve  only  know  that  so  long  as  its  impulse 
is  wholly  t)f  divine  quickening,  love  will  take  the  place 
of  self-seeking  and  will  build  up  human  brotherhood  ; 
and  the  shaping  of  this  life  will  be  the  expression  of 
some  utterlj'  new  divine  delight  in  the  free  play  of  emo- 
tional activit'vis.  There  may  be  lapses  ;  human  aspira- 
tion may  agam  suffer  the  mortal  disease  of  ambition, 
and  the  eager,  joyous  possession  of  tne  earth  may  again 
take  on  the  sickly  hue  of  selfishness,  the  tender  mas- 
tery of  love  become  again  the  love  of  mastery ;  but 
this  hardening  unto  death  is  also  a  part  of  the  divine 
plan — the  winter  of  the  heart  covering  the  vitalities  of 
springtime.  Every  new  cycle  will  more  nearly  approach 
the  earthly  realization  of  the  heavenly  harmony.    .    .    . 

The  children  of  the  kingdom  are  the  friends  of  God, 
building  with  Him  they  know  not  clearly  what.  They 
have  never  known.  Every  unfolding  of  the  divine  life 
in  them — in  the  shapings  of  their  own  life — is  a  sur- 
prise. When  they  would  comfortably  abide  in  the 
structures  they  have  shaped  under  the  impulse  of  fresh 
inspiration,  then  there  always  comes  that  other  surprise, 
as  of  sad  autumn,  abruptly  following  upon  summer,  the 
deep  green  changing  to  the  almost  taunting  brightness 
of  decay — the  surprise  of  corruption,  so  necessary  to 
any  new  surprise  of  life.  When  the  sun  flames  into  a 
sudden  glory  before  his  setting,  there  is  a  moment  of 
sadness,  and  then  we  seem  to  hear  a  voice,  saying,  He 
shall  so  come  in  like  manner  as  ye  have  seen  him  go. 
When  the  forms  of  life  with  which  they  have  fondly 
lingered  break  up  and  disappear,  the  children  take  nat- 
ure at  her  own  bright  meaning.  Their  regrets  dissolve 
into  the  raptures  of  coming  life — they  are  the  children 
of  the  resurrection. — God  in  His  World. 
Vol.  I. — 17 


ALDEN,  Isabella  (McDonald)  (pseudonym, 
"Pansy"),  an  American  author,  born  in  New 
York  in  1841.  Her  stories  are  chiefly  for  the 
young,  and  those  known  as  the  Pansy  books  are 
widely  read  and  very  popular.  They  comprise  a 
large  number  of  volumes,  among  them  Helen 
Lester ;  di  prize  story.  Ester  Reed;  One  Common- 
place Day;  An  Endless  Chain;  Ruth  Er shine's 
Crosses ;  Links  in  Rebecca's  Life ;  Four  Girls  at 
Chautauqua  ;  Chrissys  Endeavor ;  Helen,  the  His- 
torian, and  Mrs.  Dee  Dunmore  Bryant.  Mrs.  Alden 
is  the  editor  of  a  juvenile  periodical  called  Pansy, 
and  is  connected  with  the  Chautauqua  Summer 
School. 

"  CHRIS,  I  wouldn't." 

Looking  back  over  this  period  of  her  life,  Chrissy  al- 
ways singled  this  out  as  one  of  her  hard  evenings.  She 
was  not,  as  she  pathetically  phrased  it  herself,  "  ac- 
quainted with  "  her  brother  ;  they  had  no  assured  tastes 
in  common  for  her  to  fall  back  upon.  She  was  by  no 
means  at  her  best  ;  there  was  a  dead  weight  of  anxiety 
and  disappointment  tugging  at  her  heart,  there  were 
endless  questions  knocking  at  the  door  of  her  mind, 
clamoring  to  be  taken  up  and  thought  about ;  there  was, 
besides  all  this,  a  sort  of  undertone  of  nameless  heart- 
ache, which  she  did  not  even  care  to  define,  but  which 
added  its  share  to  the  general  gloom.  All  these  must 
be  put  down  with  resolute  hand,  and  her  brother  Har- 
mon interested  and  amused  if  possible. 


ISABELLA   ALDEN'  259 

She  bent  her  energies  to  the  task.  Whatever  was  to 
be  done  to-morrow,  this  slie  would  accomplish  to-night 
or  learn  that  she  could  not  do  it. 

The  cards  were  written  with  many  a  graceful  flourish, 
and  admired.  .  .  .  Then  Chrissy  chattered  about  a  dozen 
nothings  which  she  thought  might  amuse  him.  She  dc" 
tailed  with  happy  mimicry  certain  conversations  she  had 
heard  that  day,  though  never  a  word  of  that  one  which 
had  sent  her  home  with  such  a  blanched  face  and 
throbbing  heart.  She  described,  with  animation  she 
was  far  from  feeling,  some  of  the  costumes  planned  for 
the  coming  entertainment  ;  with  rigid  determination  to 
carry  the  thing  through  at  all  cost  to  herself,  she  gave 
a  minute  description  of  the  tableau  which  she  hated,  and 
remembered  for  years  the  thrill  of  actual  pain,  mingled 
with  unbounded  surprise,  when  she  was  interrupted  by 
his  sudden,  "  If  I  were  you,  Chris,  I  wouldn't." 

"Wouldn't  what?" 

"  Oh!  go  into  that  sort  of  thing.  It  is  well  enough  for 
other  fellows'  sisters,  but  not  for  mine.  That's  unselfish, 
isn't  it?"  with  a  slight  laugh.  Then,  in  answer  to  her 
stare  of  astonishment  and  dismay  :  "I  can't  define  the 
feeling.  I  suppose  it  is  all  folly  anyway.  There's  no 
harm,  of  course  ;  I  don't  mean  that.  It  doesn't  begin 
with  the  things  one  sits  and  stares  at  nightly,  at  the 
theatre,  and  admires  and  applauds.  That's  all  right, 
no  one  objects  to  it  ;  because,  you  see,  it  is  somebody 
else's  sister,  or  nobody's  sister  ;  nobody  that  one  cares 
for,  you  know,  or  ever  expects  to.  But  when  it  comes 
to  setting  one's  own  sister  up  to  be  stared  at,  and  com- 
mented on,  and  talked  up  the  next  night  when  they  get 
to  their  clubs — why,  it  goes  against  the  grain.  You 
won't  understand  it ;  you  are  not  expected  to  under- 
stand ;  fact  is,  you  don't  know  how  some  fellows  talk, 
and  it's  just  as  well  you  shouldn't.  I  know  it  is  quite 
the  style  ;  done  in  the  name  of  the  church,  and  for  the 
cause  of  benevolence  and  missions,  and  all  that ;  and  I 
know  perfectly  well,  Chris,  the  motive,  so  far  at  least  as 
some  of  you  are  concerned,  is  all  right,  but  I  have 
often  thought  if  you  girls  could  be  present  at  some  of 
the  club  -  rooms  afterward,  and  not  be  visible,  you 
wouldn't  like  it.     Of   course   you  can  say  that  people 


26o  ISABELLA   ALDEl^ 

talk  about  everybody,  and  so  they  do  ;  but  they  can't 
make  so  much  out  of  an  evening  party,  for  instance — 
unless  you  dance  a  good  deal — as  they  can  out  of  pri- 
vate theatricals.  That  is  what  they  call  them,  Chris. 
You  may  name  them  '  entertainments,'  or  '  tableaux,'  or 
any  other  pretty  name  that  suits  you,  but  what  the  fel- 
lows say  when  they  get  together  is  *  theatricals.'  I 
didn't  mean  to  say  a  word  of  all  this.  I've  thought  it^ 
and  I've  wished  young  ladies,  especially  you,  somehow, 
wouldn't  go  into  such  things  ;  but  it  didn't  seem  worth 
while  to  say  it — not  for  a  fellow  like  me.  I  can't  make 
it  plain  to  you,  you  know  ;  it  is  only  a  feeling,  and  I 
meant  to  keep  still.  I  don't  know  how  I  happened  to 
go  on  like  this.  You  can  forget  all  about  it  if  you  like, 
and  go  on  with  your  story.  It  is  a  pretty  thing,  any- 
way, and  must  take  oceans  of  work.  There's  one  thing 
you  may  understand,  Chris.  Of  course  no  fellow  will 
say  anything  rude  about  you  before  me  without  getting 
knocked  over  for  it.  You  see  it  is  such  a  confounded 
mean  world  ;  nobody  can  do  anything  without  wishing 
he  hadn't."     .     .     . 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously  as  he  spoke,  wishing 
within  himself  that  he  had  been  deaf  and  dumb  before 
he  upset  her  bright  pretty  talk  by  any  of  his  notions. 
Why  couldn't  he  have  held  his  tongue  ?  Of  course  she 
would  go  on  with  it — why  shouldn't  she?  The  young 
ladies  all  did.  Now  she  would  go  and  be  offended  with 
him,  and  he  hadn't  meant  to  offend  her. 

Meantime,  Chrissy,  holding  back  with  resolute  will 
the  outburst  of  passionate  tears  which  longed  to  have 
their  way,  holding  back  with  equal  firmness  the  sharp 
sense  of  failure  and  humiliation,  refusing  to  think  of  the 
young  men  who  had  talked  about  her  that  day,  who  had 
dared  to  say  that  she  might  distinguish  herself  if  she 
would  go  on  the  boards,  .  .  .  bent  over  Harmon  when 
the  cough  was  at  last  subdued,  wiping  with  her  own  fine 
bit  of  cambric  the  moisture  from  his  forehead,  and  said 
gently,  soothingly  :  "  I  did  not  know  you  felt  like  this, 
Harmon.  I  would  not  have  done  anything  of  which 
you  disapproved,  if  I  had  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  I 
wish  you  had  told  me  before.  But  now  you  must  not 
talk  any  more  to-night ;  it  is  that  which  has  made  you 


ISABELLA   ALDEN  a6l 

cough.     I'm  going  to  play  for  you  some  of  your  favorite 
music  while  you  rest."     .     .     . 

He  smiled,  and  leaned  back  white  and  worn  against 
the  pale  green  of  the  chair  cushions,  and  closed  his 
eyes.  While  Chrissy  played  brilliant  waltzes — his  fa- 
vorite style  of  music — he  said  to  himself  that  she  was  a 
brick  anyway  ;  most  girls  would  have  gone  and  sulked 
jf  they  had  been  pitched  into  that  way,  and  it  was  very 
nice  of  her  to  say  that  she  wouldn't  have  done  anything 
of  which  he  disapproved,  if  she  had  known  it. — Chrissy s 
Endeavor. 


ALDEN,  Joseph,  D.D.,  an  American  educator, 
author,  and  Congregational  clergyman,  born  at 
Cairo,  N.  Y.,  January  4,  1807;  died  at  New  York, 
August  30,  1885.  He  graduated  at  Union  College 
in  1828;  studied  theology  at  Princeton  Seminary, 
New  Jersey  ;  was  a  college  tutor  for  two  years; 
and  in  1834  was  ordained  pastor  of  a  Congrega- 
tional church  in  Massachusetts.  From  1835  to 
1852  he  was  Professor  of  Rhetoric  in  Williams 
College,  Massachusetts;  from  1852  to  1857,  Pro- 
fessor of  Moral  Philosophy  in  Lafayette  College, 
Pennsylvania;  from  1857  to  1867,  President  of 
Jefferson  College,  Pennsylvania;  and  in  1867  was 
made  Principal  of  the  State  Normal  School  at 
Albany,  N.  Y.  He  contributed  largely  to  period- 
icals, especially  to  the  New  York  Observer^  of  which 
he  was  for  a  time  editor.  Some  of  his  later 
works  are  :  Christian  Ethics,  or  the  Science  of  Duty 
( 1 866) ;  Eleniejits  of  Intellectual  Philosophy  ( 1 866) ;  The 
Science  of  Govcrnme^it  (1867)  ;  Hand- Book  for  Sunday 
School  Teachers  (1872)  ;  First  Steps  in  Political  Econ^ 
amy  (1879),  ^'^^^  Thoughts  on  the  Religious  Life  (1879). 


CONCEPTIONS   OF   THE    INFINITE. 

There  has  been  a  great  deal  written  about  the  abso- 
lute and  the  infinite  which  conveys  no  meaning  to  such 
as  have  not  the  faculty  of  understanding  the  unintel- 
ligible. For  example,  Mansel  says:  "That  which  is 
conceived  of  as  absolute  and  infinite  must  be  conceived 

(262^ 


JOSEPH  ALDEN^ 


263 


of  as  combining  within  itself  the  sum  not  only  of  all 
actual  but  of  all  possible  modes  of  being." — There  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  general  infinite.  There  are  infinite 
things  or  attributes,  just  as  there  are  true  prop- 
ositions. But  the  infinite  and  the  true  are  not  inde- 
pendent entities.  We  cognize  infinite  objects,  and  can 
thus  form  an  abstract  idea  of  infinity.  The  idea  is  not 
definable.  As  we  say,  *'  Truth  is  that  in  which  all  true 
proportions  agree,"  so  we  may  say,  that  the  infinite  is 
that  in  which  all  infinite  objects  agree.  That  is  infinite 
which  has  no  limit.  That  which  we  cognize  as  limit- 
less is  to  us  infinite.  AVe  must  distinguish  between  the 
infinite  and  the  indefinite.  God's  wisdom  is  infinite ;  it 
transcends  all  our  powers  of  expression.  So  of  his 
mercy  and  his  benevolence.  Infinite  existence  is  ever- 
lasting existence.  When  we  speak  of  God  as  the  In- 
finite Existence,  we  mean  that  all  his  attributes  are 
infinite.  The  human  mind  can  form  no  adequate  appre- 
hension of  infinite  things;  and  yet  it  is  not,  properly 
speaking,  a  negative  apprehension  which  we  have  of  it. 
The  fact  that  we  cannot  know  everything  about  a  sub- 
ject or  object  does  not  prove  that  we  cannot  know  any- 
thing about  it.  The  fact  that  we  cannot  by  searching 
find  out  God  to  perfection,  does  not  prove  that  we  can- 
not know  many  things  respecting  him.  God  is  infinite  : 
that  is,  His  existence  and  attributes  are  without  limit 
— transcend  all  our  power  of  apprehension.  We  know 
nothing  that  can  be  added  to  them. — Elements  of  Intel- 
lectual Philosophy. 


ALDEN,  William  Livingston,  son  of  Joseph 
Alden,  was  born  at  Williamstown,  Mass.,  in 
1837.  He  was  educated  at  Lafayette  and  Jeff- 
erson Colleges,  studied  law,  and  while  waiting  for 
clients  became  a  contributor  to  newspapers  and 
magazines.  In  1874  he  joined  the  editorial  staff 
of  the  New  York  Times,  with  which  he  remained 
connected  until  1885,  when  he  was  appointed 
Consul-General  at  Rome.  Since  the  expiration 
of  his  term  of  office  he  has  resided  in  Paris  and  in 
London,  engaged  in  literary  work.  His  early 
volumes.  Domestic  Explosives  (1878)  and  Shooting 
Stars  (1879),  were  collections  ot  humorous  articles 
previously  published  in  the  Times.  His  later 
books  are  :  The  Canoe  and  the  Flying  Proa  (1880) ; 
three  books  for  boys:  The  MoraJ  Pirates  (1881), 
The  Cruise  of  the  Ghost  (1882),  and  The  Cruise  of 
the  Canoe  Club  (1883) ;  Life  of  Columbus  (1882) ;  Ad- 
ventures of  Jimmy  Brozvn  (1885);  Trying  to  Find 
Europe  (i  886) ;  The  Neiv  Robinson  Crusoe  (i  888) ;  The 
Loss  of  the  Swansea  (1889) ;  A  Lost  Soul  {iSg2). 

A   REMEDY    FOR    BRASS   INSTRUMENTS. 

In  order  to  be  a  great  military  commander  it  is  gen- 
erally conceded  that  a  certain  amount  of  indifference  to 
human  suffering  is  requisite.  .  .  .  Alike  callousness 
of  heart  is  a  necessary  characteristic  of  the  man  who 
undertakes  to  learn  to  play  upon  a  musical  instrument. 

The  sum  of  human  agony  caused  by  the  early  efforts 
of  players  upon  stringed,  reed,  and  brass  instruments 

Ca64) 


WILLIAM  LIVINGSTON  ALDEN  265 

is  incalculable,  and  it  is  noticeable  that  wlierever  mu- 
sical amateurs  abound  the  Universalist  faith  makes 
no  progress.  .  .  .  Many  learned  commentators  have 
discussed  the  nature  of  the  insanity  under  which 
King  Saul  frequently  suffered,  but  it  is  odd  that  no  one 
has  perceived  that  it  was  due  to  the  youthful  David's 
persistent  practice  upon  the  harp.  We  know  that  on 
one  occasion,  while  David  was  playing  an  air,  which 
doubtless  closely  resembled  "  Silver  Threads  among  the 
Gold,"  Saul  flung  a  javelin  at  the  musician  and  drove 
him  away.  Doubtless,  the  king  was  hasty,  but  let  us 
remember  his  extreme  provocation.  As  for  David,  not 
content  with  having  already  killed  the  leading  Philistine 
giant,  he  went  and  played  the  harp  to  that  unhappy 
nation,  with  the  view  of  demoralizing  the  people  so  that 
he  could  make  an  easy  conquest  of  them  on  coming  to 
the  Israelitish  throne. 

While  the  javelin  is  probably  a  specific  for  all  suffer- 
ing due  to  accordions,  violins,  cornets,  and  flutes,  it  is 
not  a  remedy  which  is  available  at  the  present  day. 
The  most  successful  mode  of  treatment  which  has  been 
devised  is  that  which  was  recently  tried,  with  admirable 
results,  in  the  case  of  a  young  man  residing  in  a  Twenty- 
second  Street  boarding-house,  who  was  addicted  to  the 
French  horn  ;  and  it  is  due  to  the  medical  profession 
that  the  history  of  the  case  should  be  briefly  given. 

The  young  man  in  question  occupied  the  second-story 
front  hall-bedroom.  He  was  apparently  a  quiet  and 
well-meaning  person,  but  under  a  smooth  and  spotless 
shirt-bosom  he  concealed  a  heart  heedless  of  human 
suffering.  .  .  .  That  he  preferred  to  learn  the  French 
horn  does  not  palliate  his  offence  ;  for  although  the 
horn  lacks  the  ear-piercing  shrillness  of  the  cornet,  its 
tone  has  a  wonderfully  penetrating  power,  and  is  to  the 
last  degree  depressing  to  the  spirits.  Unfortunately 
.  .  .  he  paid  his  room-rent  in  advance  with  cold-blood- 
ed punctuality.  Hence,  although  he  rose  up  early  and 
sat  up  late  to  practise  the  horn,  his  landlady  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  either  to  request  him  to  leave  or  to 
hint  to  him,  by  the  discreet  method  of  helping  him  ex- 
clusively to  cold  coffee  and  bare  bones,  that  his  pres- 
ence in  her  house  was  undesirable. 


266  WILLIAM  LIVINGSTON  ALDEN 

The  man  who  begins  to  play  a  wind  instrument  em- 
ploys the  most  of  his  time  in  what  may  be  called  *'  sight- 
ing shots-'  For  example,  when  this  particular  young 
man  desired  to  sound  B  flat,  it  would  take  a  long  while 
before  h&  could  get  his  elevation  and  his  wind-gauge 
regulated-  He  would  hit  three  or  four  notes  above  B 
flat,  and  three  or  four  notes  below  it  a  score  of  times 
before  he  would  finally  make  a  bull's  eye.  Even  when, 
after  long  effort,  he  succeeded  in  hitting  the  desired 
note,  the  sound  produced  would  be  what  is  technically 
called  a  "blaat,"  or,  in  other  words,  an  uncertain,  tone- 
less, and  most  unmusical  sound.  It  is  needless  to  speak 
of  the  effect  which  this  sort  of  thing  had  upon  his  fellow- 
boarders.  At  the  end  of  two  weeks  public  indignation 
had  grown  to  that  extent  that  it  was  seriously  proposed 
to  melt  the  horn  and  to  pour  the  metal  down  the  throat 
of  the  player,  as  a  warning  that  unless  he  promptly  re- 
formed he  would  be  dealt  with  severely.  It  was  then 
that  a  homoeopathic  physician  residing  in  the  house 
called  a  meeting  of  the  aggrieved  boarders  in  order  to 
propose  what  he  believed  would  prove  a  radical  cure. 

After  describing  with  great  clearness  the  painful 
symptoms  which  prolonged  practice  upon  the  horn  de- 
velops in  unfortunate  and  unwilling  listeners,  he  asserted 
that  in  order  to  successfully  combat  the  effects  of  horn- 
playing,  the  use  of  other  instruments  which  produce 
analogous  symptoms  was  indicated.  Hence,  he  proposed 
that  each  boarder  should  provide  himself  with  a  cornet, 
a  violin,  an  accordion,  a  flute,  or  a  drum,  and  administer 
these  remedies  whenever  any  symptoms  of  the  French 
horn  were  manifested. 

The  next  evening  at  seven  o'clock  the  familiar  gasp 
of  the  horn  was  heard.  Instantly  it  was  followed  by  the 
screech  of  the  violin,  the  spasmodic  choking  of  the  cor- 
net, the  drone  of  the  accordion,  the  wail  of  the  flute, 
and  the  fierce  uproar  of  the  drum.  In  two  minutes  a 
crowd  was  collected  in  the  street  under  the  impression 
that  a  large  orchestra  was  rehearsing  Wagner's  "  Meis- 
tersinger,'^  and  the  young  man  with  the  French  horn 
was  lying  on  the  floor  of  his  room  in  strong  convulsions. 

The  cure  was  complete.  Early  the  next  morning  the 
French-horn  player  was  removed  to  a  lunatic  asylum, 


WILLIAM  LIVINGSTON  ALDEN 


267 


where  he  still  remains.  He  is  quiet  and  harmless,  but 
he  believes  that  he  is  a  remnant  of  the  wall  of  Jericho, 
which  fell  down  under  the  assault  of  the  Hebrew  trum- 
pets, and  constantly  insists  that  Congress  should  make 
an  appropriation  to  repair  him  and  mount  him  with  bar- 
bette guns.  .  .  .  His  horn  has  vanished,  and  the  in- 
mates of  his  former  boarding-house  arc  contented  and 
happy. — Shooting  Stars, 


ALDRICH,  Thomas  Bailey, an  American  jour- 
nalist, poet,  and  novelist,  born  at  Portsmouth,  N. 
H.,  November  1 1,  1836.  He  entered  the  counting- 
house  of  his  uncle,  a  New  York  merchant,  where 
he  remained  three  years;  began  to  write  for  va- 
rious periodicals,  and  subsequently  acted  as  proof- 
reader in  a  printing-office.  He  became  connected 
with  the  'Qosion  Atlantic  Monthly,  of  which  he  was 
made  editor  in  1883.  His  poems  include:  The 
Bells  (1855) ;  Baby  Bell  (1856) ;  Cloth  of  Gold  (1874) ; 
Flower  and  Thorn  (1876);  Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful 
Book  (1881);  Mercedes  and  Later  Lyrics ;  also  a 
household  edition  of  his  complete  poems  (1885); 
WyndJiam  Towers  (1889);  TJie  Sister  s  Tragedy  and 
Other  Poems  (1891),  and  Unguarded  Gates  and 
Other  Poems. 

PRELUDE   TO   CLOTH   OF   GOLD.* 

You  ask  me  if  by  rule  or  no 

Our  many-colored  songs  are  wrought? — 

Upon  the  cunning  loom  of  thought, 
We  weave  our  fancies  so  and  so. 
The  busy  shuttle  comes  and  goes 

Across  the  rhymes,  and  deftly  weaves 

A  tissue  out  of  autumn  leaves 
With  here  a  thistle,  there  a  rose. 

With  art  and  patience  thus  is  made 
The  poet's  perfect  Cloth  of  Gold : 
When  woven  so,  nor  moth  nor  mould 

Nor  time  can  make  its  colors  fade. 

*  By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 
,(268) 


THOMAS     HAH   I  ^'     \l    DKMCH. 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  269 


L  ENVOIE   TO    CLOTH   OF   GOLD.'* 

This  is  my  youth — its  hopes  and  dreams. 
How  strange  and  shadowy  it  all  seems 

After  so  many  years  ! 
Turning  the  pages  idly,  so, 
I  look  with  smiles  upon  the  woe, 

Upon  the  joy  with  tears ! 

Go,  little  Book.     The  old  and  wise 
Will  greet  thee  with  suspicious  eyes, 

With  stare  or  furtive  frown ; 
But  here  and  there  some  golden  maid 
May  like  thee : — Thou'lt  not  be  afraid 

Of  young  eyes,  blue  or  brown. 

To  such  a  one,  perchance,  thou'lt  sing 
As  clearly  as  a  bird  of  spring, 

Hailing  the  apple-blossom; 
And  she  will  let  thee  make  thy  nest, 
Perhaps,  within  her  snowy  breast. 

Go  :  rest  thou  in  her  bosom. 


THE   CRESCENT    AND    THE   CROSS. 

Kind  was  my  friend  who  in  the  Eastern  land 
Remembered  me  with  such  a  gracious  hand, 
And  sent  this  Moorish  crescent  which  has  been 
Worn  on  the  haughty  bosom  of  a  queen. 

No  more  it  sinks  and  rises  with  unrest 
To  the  soft  music  of  her  heathen  breast ; 
No  barbarous  chief  shall  bow  before  it  more. 
No  turbaned  slave  shall  envy  and  adore. 

I  place  beside  this  relic  of  the  Sun 

A  cross  of  cedar,  brought  from  Lebanon  ; 

One  borne,  perchance,  by  some  pale  monk  who  trod 

The  desert  to  Jerusalem — and  his  God  ! 

•By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co. 


270  THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

Here  do  they  lie,  two  symbols  of  two  creeds. 
Each  meaning  something  to  our  human  needs  ; 
Both  stained  with  blood,  and  sacred  made  by  faith, 
By  tears,  and  prayers,  and  martyrdom  and  death. 

That  for  the  Moslem  is,  but  this  for  me ! 
The  waning  crescent  lacks  divinity  : 
It  gives  me  dreams  of  battles,  and  the  woes 
Of  women  shut  in  dim  seraglios. 

But  when  this  cross  of  simple  wood  I  see, 
The  Star  of  Bethlehem  shines  again  for  me, 
And  glorious  visions  break  upon  my  gloom  :— 
The  patient  Christ,  and  Mary  at  the  tomb. 

A    TURKISH    LEGEND. 

A  certain  Pasha,  dead  five  thousand  years, 
Once  from  his  harem  fled  in  sudden  tears, 

And  had  this  sentence  on  the  city's  gate 
Deeply  engraven,  "  Only  God  is  great." 

So  these  four  words  above  the  city's  noise 
Hung  like  the  accents  of  an  angel's  voice, 

And  evermore,  from  the  high  barbican, 
Saluted  each  returning  caravan. 

Lost  is  that  city's  glory.     Every  gust 

Lifts,  with  crisp  leaves,  the  unknown  Pasha's  dust; 

And  all  is  ruin — save  one  wrinkled  gate 
Whereon  is  written,  "  Only  God  is  great." 

LITTLE    MAUD. 

I. 

Oh,  where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling,  the  daintiest  dar- 

ling  of  all  ? 
Where  is  the  voice  on  the  stairway,  where  is  the  voice 

in  the  hall  ? 
The  little  short  steps  in  the  entry,  the  silvery  laugh  in 

the  hall  ? 
Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling,  the  daintiest  darling 

of  all  ? 

Little  Maud  ' 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  271 

II. 

The    peaches  are   ripe   in   the  orchard  ;  the   apricots 
ready  to  fall ; 

A.nd  the  grapes  reach  up  to  the  sunshine  over  the  gar- 
den wall. 

O  rosebud  of  women  !  where  are  you  ?     (She  never  re- 
plies to  our  call  !) 

Where  is  our  dainty,  our  darling,  the  daintiest  darling 
of  all? 

Little  Maud  ? 

EGYPT. 

Fantastic  sleep  is  busy  with  my  eyes  : 

I  seem  in  some  vast  solitude  to  stand 

Once  ruled  of  Cheops  :  upon  either  hand 

A  dark,  illimitable  desert  lies. 

Sultry  and  still — a  realm  of  mysteries  ; 

A  wide-browed  Sphinx,  half  buried  in  the  sand, 

With  orbless  sockets  stares  across  the  land, 

The  wofullest  thing  beneath  these  brooding  skies, 

Where  all  is  woful,  weird-lit  vacancy. 

'Tis  neither  midnight,  twilight,  nor  moonrise. 

Lo  !  while  I  gaze  beyond  the  vast  sand-sea 

The  nebulous  clouds  are  downward  slowly  drawn, 

And  one  bleared  star,  faint-glimmering  like  a  bee, 

Is  shut  in  the  rosy  outstretched  hand  of  Dawn. 

EDGAR    ALLAN    POE. 

He  walked  with  demons,  ghouls,  and  things 
Unsightly — terrors  and  despairs — 
And  ever  in  the  blackened  airs 

A  dismal  raven  flapped  its  wings. 

He  wasted  richest  gifts  of  God  ; 
But  here's  the  limit  of  his  woes  : — 
Sleep  rest  him !     See  above  him  grows 

The  very  grass  whereon  he  trod. 

Behold  !  within  this  narrow  grave 

Is  shut  the  mortal  part  of  him. 

Behold  !  he  could  not  wholly  dim 
The  gracious  genius  Heaven  gave  ;— 


27fl  THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

For  strains  of  music  liere  and  there, 
Weird  murmurings,  vague,  prophetic  tones, 
Are  blown  across  the  silent  zones 

Forever  in  the  midnight  air. 

DECEMBER. 

Only  the  sea  intoning,  only  the  wainscot-mouse, 
Only  the  wild  wind  moaning  over  the  lonely  house. 

Darkest  of  all  Decembers  ever  my  life  has  known, 
Sitting  here  by  the  embers  stunned,  helpless,  alone. 

Dreaming  of  two  graves  lying  out  in  the  damp  and  chill* 
One  where  the  buzzard,  fiying,  pauses  at  Malvern  Hill  ; 

The  other — Alas  !  the  pillows  of  that  uneasy  bed 
Rise  and  fall  with  the  billows,  over  our  sailor's  head. 

Theirs  the  heroic  story  : — Died,  by  frigate  and  town  ! 
Theirs  the  calm  and  the  glory,  theirs  the  cross  and  the 
crown. 

Mine  to  linger  and  languish  here  by  the  wintry  sea. 
Ah,  faint  heart !  in  thy  anguish,  what  is  there  left  to  thee  \ 

Only  the  sea  intoning,  only  the  wainscot-mouse, 
Only  the  wild  wind  moaning  over  the  lonely  house. 

BY  THE   POTOMAC. 

The  soft  new  grass  is  creeping  o'er  the  graves 

By  the  Potomac  !  and  the  crisp  ground-flower 

Lifts  its  blue  cup  to  catch  the  passing  shower; 

The  pine-cone  ripens,  and  the  long  moss  waves 

Its  tangled  gonfalons  above  our  braves. 

Hark,  what  a  burst  of  music  from  yon  bower  !— 

The  Southern  nightingale  that,  hour  by  hour, 

In  its  melodious  madness  raves. — 

Ah,  with  what  delicate  touches  of  her  hand, 

With  what  sweet  voices,  nature  seeks  to  screen 

The  awful  crime  of  this  distracted  land  ; 

Seis  her  birds  singing,  while  she  spreads  her  green 

Mantle  of  velvet  where  the  murdered  lie, 

As  if  to  hide  the  horror  from  God's  eye. 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICh  273 


BEFORE   THE   RAIN.' 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  all  the  mom 

A  spirit  on  tender  robes  of  mist 
Was  lowering  its  golden  buckets  down 

Into  the  vapory  amethyst 

Of  marshes  and  swamps  and  dismal  fens ; 

Scooping  the  dew  that  lay  in  the  flowers ; 
Dipping  the  jewels  out  of  the  sea, 

To  sprinkle  them  over  the  land  in  showers. 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  the  poplars  showed 
The  white  of  their  leaves  ;  the  amber  grain 

Shrunk  in  the  wind  ;  and  the  lightning  now 
Is  tangled  in  tremulous  clouds  of  rain ! 

AFTER   THE   RAIN.* 

The  rain  has  ceased,  and  in  my  room 
The  sunshine  pours  an  airy  flood  ; 

And  on  the  church's  dizzy  vane, 

The  ancient  cross  is  bathed  in  blood. 

From  out  the  dripping  ivy  leaves, 
Antiquely  carven,  gray  and  high, 

A  dormer,  facing  westward,  looks 
Upon  the  village  like  an  eye. 

And  now  it  glimmers  in  the  sun, 
A  square  of  gold,  a  disc,  a  speck  : 

And  in  the  belfry  sits  a  dove 
With  purple  ripples  on  her  neck. 

Richardson,  \w  American  Literature,  S2Lys'.  "The 
poetry  of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  may  be  de- 
scribed, with  substantial  fairness,  in  the  terse 
words  wherein  Emerson  characterizes  Herrick: 
he  *is  the  lyric  poet,  ostentatiously  choosing 
petty  subjects,  petty  names  for  each  piece,  and 
disposing  of   his  theme  in  a  few    lines,  or  in  a 

•  By  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co, 
Vol.  1o~jS 


274  7^11  OM AS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

couplet;  is  never  dull,  and  is  the  master  of  minia- 
ture painting.'"  Among  his  prose  works  are  :  Out  of 
His  Head  ( 1 862)  ;  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy  ( 1 870)  ;  Marjorie 
Daw  ajid  other  People  (1873);  Prtidence  Palfrey 
(1874);  The  Queen  of  Sheba  {i2>7y)',  The  Stilhvater 
Tragedy  (1880) ;  Frovi  Ponkapog  to  Pesth  (1883) ;  and, 
in  conjunction  with  Mrs.  Oliphant,  The  Second  Son 
(1888);  2i\so,  An  Old  Toivn  by  the  Sea,  and  Tzvo 
Bites  at  a  Cherry.  Whether  in  prose  or  verse,  Mr. 
Aldrich  is  always  charming.  He  possesses  a 
light  and  brilliant  touch,  which  is  found  in  all 
his  writings,  and,  to  quote  the  words  of  Edward 
Eggleston :  "  It  is  this  lightness  of  touch  which 
more  than  anything  else  marks  the  literar}'^  artist. 
He  who  makes  you  feel  the  weight  of  his  thought 
without  letting  you  feel  heaviness  of  expression, 
he  who  floats  his  ideas  to  you  upon  wings,  is  the 
true  artist  in  literature." 

john  flemming  to  edward  delaney,. 

August  ii,  — — 

Your  letter,  dear  Ned,  was  a  godsend.  Fancy  what  a 
fix  I  am  in,  I,  who  never  had  a  day's  sickness  since  I 
was  born.  My  left  leg  weighs  three  tons.  It  is  em- 
balmed in  spices  and  smothered  in  layers  of  fine  linen, 
like  a  mummy.  I  can't  move.  I  haven't  moved  for 
five  thousand  years.     I'm  of  the  time  of  Pharaoh. 

I  lie  from  morning  till  night  on  a  lounge,  staring  into 
the  hot  street.  Everybody  is  out  of  town  enjoying 
himself.  The  brownstone-front  houses  across  the 
street  resemble  a  row  of  particularly  ugly  coffins  set 
up  on  end.  A  green  mould  is  settling  on  the  names  of 
the  deceased,  carved  on  the  silver  door-plates.  Sar- 
donic spiders  have  sewed  up  the  key-holes.  All  is 
silence  and  dust  and  desolation.  I  interrupt  this  a 
moment,  to  take  a  shy  at  VVatkins  with  the  second 
volume  of  Csesai    Birotteau.     Missed  him !      I  think  I 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  275 

could  bring  him  down  with  a  copy  of  Sainte-Beuve  or 
the  Dictionnaire  Universal,  if  I  had  it.  These  small 
Balzac  books  somehow  don't  quite  fit  my  hand  ;  but  I 
shall  fetch  him  yet,  I've  an  idea  Watkins  is  tapping 
the  old  gentleman's  Chateau  Yquem — duplicate  key  of 
the  wine-cellar.  Hibernian  swarries  in  the  front  base- 
ment. Young  Cheops  upstairs,  snug  in  his  cerements. 
Watkins  glides  into  my  chamber,  with  that  colorless, 
hypocritical  face  of  his  drawn  out  long  like  an  accor- 
dion ;  but  I  know  he  grins  all  the  way  downstairs,  and 
is  glad  I  have  broken  my  leg.  Was  not  my  evil  star  in 
the  very  zenith  when  I  ran  uptown  to  attend  that  din- 
ner at  Delmonico's?  I  didn't  come  up  altogether  for 
that.  It  was  partly  to  buy  Frank  Livingstone's  roan 
mare,  Margot.  And  now  I  shall  not  be  able  to  sit  in 
the  saddle  these  two  months.  I'll  send  the  mare  down 
to  you  at  the  The  Pines — is  that  the  name  of  the 
place  ? 

Old  Dillon  fancies  that  I  have  something  on  my  mind. 
He  drives  me  wild  with  lemons.  Lemons  for  a  mind 
disease.  Nonsense.  I  am  only  as  restless  as  the 
devil  under  this  confinement,  a  thing  I  am  not  used  to. 
Take  a  man  who  has  never  had  so  much  as  a  headache 
or  a  toothache  in  his  life,  strap  one  of  his  legs  in  a  sec- 
tion of  waterspout,  keep  him  in  a  room  in  the  city  for 
weeks,  with  the  hot  weather  turned  on,  and  then  ex- 
pect him  to  smile  and  purr  and  be  happy  !  It  is  pre- 
posterous,    I  can't  be  cheerful  or  calm. 

Your  letter  is  the  first  consoling  thing  I  have  had 
since  my  disaster — ten  days  ago.  It  really  cheered 
me  up  for  half  an  hour.  Send  me  a  screed,  Ned,  as 
often  as  you  can,  if  you  love  me.  Anything  will  do. 
Write  me  more  about  the  little  girl  in  the  hammock. 
That  was  very  pretty,  all  that  about  the  Dresden  china 
shepherdess  and  the  pond-lily;  the  imagery  a  little 
mixed,  perhaps,  but  very  pretty.  I  didn't  suppose  you 
had  so  much  sentimental  furniture  in  your  upper  story. 
It  shows  how  one  may  be  familiar  for  years  with  the  re- 
ception-room of  his  neighbor,  and  never  suspect  what 
is  directly  under  his  mansard.  I  supposed  your  loft 
stuffed  with  dry  legal  parchments,  mortgages  and  affi- 
davits ;  you  take  down  a  package  of  manuscript,  and 


276  THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH 

lo  '  there  are  lyrics  and  sonnets  and  canzonettas„  You 
really  have  a  graphic  descriptive  touch,  Edward  De- 
laney,  and  I  suspect  you  of  anonymous  love-tales  in  the 
magazines. 

I  shall  be  a  bear  until  I  hear  from  you  again.  Tell 
me  all  about  your  pretty  incomiue  across  the  road.  What 
is  her  name?  Who  is  she  ?  Who's  her  father  ?  Where's 
her  mother  ?  Who's  her  lover  ?  You  cannot  imagine 
how  this  will  occupy  me.  The  more  trifling  the  better. 
My  imprisonment  has  weakened  me  intellectually  to 
such  a  degree  that  I  find  your  epistolary  gifts  quite  con- 
siderable, I  am  passing  into  my  second  childhood.  In 
a  week  or  two  I  shall  take  to  india-rubber  rings  and 
prongs  of  coral.  A  silver  cup,  with  an  appropriate  in- 
scription, would  be  a  delicate  attention  on  your  part. 
In  the  meantime,  write  ! 

edward  delaney  to  john  flemming. 

August  12,  

The  sick  pasha  shall  be  amused.  Bismillah  ! — he  wills 
it  so.  If  the  story-teller  becomes  prolix  and  tedious, 
the  bow-string  and  the  sack,  and  two  Nubians  to  drop 
him  into  the  Piscataqua  !  But  truly.  Jack,  I  have  a 
hard  task.  There  is  literally  nothing  here,  except  the 
little  girl  over  the  way.  She  is  swinging  in  the  ham- 
mock at  this  moment.  It  is  to  me  compensation  for 
many  of  the  ills  of  life  to  see  her  now  and  then  put  out 
a  small  kid  boot,  which  fits  like  a  glove,  and  set  herself 
going.  Who  is  she,  and  what  is  her  name  "i  Her  name 
is  Daw.  Only  daughter  of  Mr.  Richard  W.  Daw,  ex- 
colonel  and  banker.  Mother  dead.  One  brother  at 
Harvard ;  elder  brother  killed  at  the  battle  of  Fair 
Oaks  nine  years  ago.  Old,  rich  family,  the  Daws.  This 
is  the  homestead  where  father  and  daughter  pass  eight 
months  of  the  twelve;  the  rest  of  the  year  in  Baltimore 
and  Washington.  The  New  England  winter  too  many 
for  the  old  gentleman.  The  daughter  is  called  Marjorie 
— Marjorie  Daw.  Sounds  odd  at  first,  doesn't  it  ?  But 
after  you  say  it  over  to  yourself  half  a  dozen  times,  you 
like  it.  There's  a  pleasing  quaintness  to  it,  something 
prim  and  violet-like.  Must  be  a  nice  sort  of  girl  to  be 
called  Marjorie  Daw. 


THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH  277 

I  had  mine  host  of  The  Pines  in  the  witness-box  last 
niglit,  and  drew  the  foregoing  testimony  from  him.  He 
has  charge  of  Mr.  Daw's  vegetable-garden,  and  has 
known  the  family  these  thirty  years.  Of  course  I  shall 
make  the  acquaintance  of  my  neighbors  before  many 
days.  It  will  be  next  to  impossible  for  me  not  to  meet 
Mr.  Daw  or  Miss  Daw  in  some  of  my  walks.  The  young 
lady  has  a  favorite  path  to  the  sea-beach.  I  shall  inter- 
cept her  some  morning,  and  touch  my  hat  to  her.  Then 
the  princess  will  bend  her  fair  head  to  me  with  cour- 
teous surprise  not  unmixtd  with  haughtiness.  Will  snub 
me,  in  fact.  All  this  for  thy  sake,  O  Pasha  of  the 
Snapped  Axle-tree  !  .  .  .  How  oddly  things  fall  out ! 
Ten  minutes  ago  I  was  called  down  to  the  parlor — you 
know  the  kind  of  parlors  in  farm-houses  on  the  coast — 
a  sort  of  amphibious  parlor,  with  sea-shells  on  the  man- 
tel-piece and  spruce-branches  in  the  chimney-place, 
where  I  found  my  father  and  Mr.  Daw  doing  the  antique 
polite  to  each  other.  He  had  come  to  pay  his  respects 
to  his  new  neighbors.  Mr.  Daw  is  a  tall,  slim  gentle- 
man of  about  fifty-five,  with  a  florid  face  and  snow- 
white  mustache  and  side-whiskers.  Looks  like  Mr. 
Dombey,  or  as  Mr.  Dombey  would  have  looked  if  he 
had  served  a  few  years  in  the  British  Army.  Mr.  Daw 
was  a  colonel  in  the  late  war,  commanding  the  regiment 
in  which  his  son  was  a  lieutenant.  Plucky  old  boy, 
backbone  of  New  Hampshire  granite.  Before  taking  his 
leave,  the  colonel  delivered  himself  of  an  invitation  as 
if  he  were  issuing  a  general  order.  Miss  Daw  has  a  few 
friends  coming  at  4  p.m.,  to  play  croquet  on  the  lawn 
(parade-ground)  and  have  tea  (cold  rations)  on  the 
piazza.  Will  we  honor  them  with  our  company  (or  be 
sent  to  the  guard-house)  ?  My  father  declines  on  the 
plea  of  ill-health.  My  father's  son  bows  with  as  much 
suavity  as  he  knows,  and  accepts. 

In  my  next  I  shall  have  something  to  tell  you.  I 
shall  have  seen  the  little  beauty  face  to  face.  I  have  a 
presentiment,  Jack,  that  this  Daw  is  a  7-ara  avis  !  Keep 
up  your  spirits,  my  boy,  until  I  write  you  another  letter, 
and  send  me  along  word  how's  your  leg. — Marjorie 
Daw 


ALEARDI,  Aleardo,  an  Italian  poet  and  pa- 
triot, whose  original  name  was  Gaetano  Aleardi^ 
was  born  near  Verona,  November  14,  1812;  died 
there  July  17,  1878.  His  father's  farm  lay  in  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  Adige,  and  from  the  gran- 
deur of  the  scenery  near  his  home  is  traceable  the 
love  of  nature  which  is  found  in  all  his  verses. 
He  acquired  knowledge  in  the  school  of  nature 
more  easily  than  he  did  while  attending  school  at 
home,  where  he  was  considered  a  very  dull  boy. 
He  afterward  attended  the  University  of  Padua 
to  pursue  a  course  in  the  law,  although  it  is  said 
he  did  this  more  to  please  his  father  than  any- 
thing else,  who  advised  him  to  leave  off  writing 
verses  and  devote  his  attention  to  something  more 
serious.  His  compliance  with  his  father's  wishes 
satisfied  the  latter,  but  did  not  keep  3'oung  Aleardi 
from  following  his  natural  bent,  for  it  was  while  at 
Padua  that  he  produced  his  first  political  poems. 
He  engaged  in  the  practice  of  law  for  a  short  time 
at  Verona,  and  while  there  composed  his  first 
lengthy  poem,  Arnaldo,  which  was  well  thought  of. 
Upon  the  breaking  out  of  the  Venetian  Revolu- 
tion, in  1848,  he  became  actively  engaged  in  the 
cause  of  the  patriots,  and  when  the  new  Venetian 
Republic,  born  of  this  insurrection,  was  ushered 
into  existence,  Aleardi  was  chosen  as  its  repre- 
sentative at  Paris.     But  the  new  government  qoX' 

(278) 


ALEARDO  ALEARDI  279 

lapsed  shortly  ;  Aleardi  was  recalled,  and  for  ten 
years  devoted  his  labors  to  the  cause  of  Italian 
unity  and  freedom.  He  was  imprisoned  at  Man- 
:ua  in  1852,  and  again  at  Verona  in  1859;  '^vas  at 
3ne  time  a  member  of  the  Italian  Parliament,  and 
.ater  Professor  of  -Esthetics  in  the  School  of  Arts 
at  Brescia. 

Aleardi's  principal  impressions,  like  those  of 
nearly  all  the  other  Italian  poets,  were  caused  by 
the  exciting  events  of  Italy's  struggle  to  secure  her 
independence,  and  his  best  work  was  done  prior 
to  the  peace  of  Villafranca.  His  Le  Prime  Storie 
(The  Primal  Stories),  a  picturesque  tale,  was 
written  in  1848.  His  Una  Ora  della  Mia  Giovinezza 
(An  Hour  of  My  Youth)  was  produced  in  1858. 
In  it  he  speaks  of  his  struggles,  trials,  and  dis- 
appointments in  his  country's  cause.  Like  almost 
all  of  his  work,  this  poem  is  mostly  meditative;  its 
diction  is,  as  always,  beautiful,  and  has  the  peculiar 
lustre  which  is  so  characteristic  of  him.  Monte 
Circello\s,2i  song  of  the  Italian  victories,  which  at 
the  same  time  presents  some  scientific  truths  in  a 
novel  way.  Among  his  other  works  are :  Le  Citta 
Italiane  Marinore  e  Conimercianti,  Rafaello  e  la  For- 
narina,  Le  Tre  Fiume,  Le  Tre  Franciulle,  I  Sctte 
Soldati,  and  Canto  Politico,  the  latter  having  been 
produced  in  1862. 

CRITICISM    OF   HIMSELF. 

My  pen  resembles  too  much  a  pencil ;  I  am  too  much 
of  a  naturalist,  and  am  too  fond  of  losing  myself  in 
minute  details.  I  am  as  one  who,  in  walking,  goes 
leisurely  along,  and  stops  every  moment  to  observe 
the  dash  of  light  that  breaks  through  the  trees  of  the 


28o  ALEARDO  ALEARDI 

woods,  the  insect  that  alights  on  his  hand,  the  leaf  that 
falls  on  his  head,  a  cloud,  a  wave,  a  streak  of  smoke  ; 
in  fine,  the  thousand  accidents  that  make  creation  so 
rich,  so  various,  so  poetical,  and  beyond  which  we  ever< 
more  catch  glimpses  of  that  grand,  mysterious  some- 
thing, eternal,  immense,  benignant,  and  never  inhuman 
or  cruel,  as  some  would  have  us  believe,  which  is  called 
God. — Frofn  Howells's  Modern  Italian  Poets. 

THE   poet's   lament. 

Muse  of  an  aged  people,  in  the  eve 

Of  fading  civilization,  I  was  born 

Of  kindred  that  have  greatly  expiated 

And  greatly  wept.     For  me  the  ambrosial  finger* 

Of  graces  never  wove  the  laurel  crown, 

But  the  fates  shadowed,  from  my  youngest  days. 

My  brow  with  passion-flowers,  and  I  have  lived 

Unknown  to  my  dear  land.     Oh,  fortunate 

My  sisters  that  in  the  heroic  dawn 

Of  races  sung  !     To  them  did  destiny  give 

The  virgin  fire  and  chaste  ingenuousness 

Of  their  land's  speech  ;  and,  reverenced,  their  hand* 

Ran  over  potent  strings.     To  me,  the  hopes 

Turbid  with  hate  ;  to  me,  the  senile  rage  % 

To  me,  the  painted  fancies  clothed  by  art 

Degenerate  ;  to  me,  the  desperate  wish, 

Not  in  my  soul  to  nurse  ungenerous  dreams, 

But  to  contend,  and  with  the  sword  of  song 

To  fight  my  battles  too. 

— From  Howells's  Modern  Italian  Poets. 


\ 


ALEMBERT,  Jean  Baptiste  le  Rond  de,  a  dis- 
tinguished French  mathematician,  philosopher, 
and  general  writer,  born  at  Paris,  November  i6, 
1717  ;  died  there  October  29,  1783.  A  portion  of 
his  name  was  probably  given  him  from  the  fact 
of  his  having  been  left  near  the  church  of  St. 
Jean  le  Rond,  Paris,  where  as  a  foundling  he  was 
picked  up  by  a  commissary  of  police  on  the  day 
of  his  birth.  His  surname  he  added  himself.  It 
afterward  leaked  out  that  he  was  the  bastard  son 
of  the  Chevalier  Destouches  and  Madame  de 
Tencin,  a  woman  of  doubtful  reputation.  On  ac- 
count of  his  frail  body,  or  possibly  some  agree- 
ment with  one  of  his  parents,  he  was  intrusted  to 
the  care  of  a  glazier's  wife,  Rosseau  by  name,  who 
resided  hard  by,  instead  of  being  assigned  to  the 
foundling  asylum.  His  foster-mother  took  such 
care  in  bringing  him  up  that  she  gained  his  life- 
long attachment.  After  he  became  famous  he  re- 
fused to  recognize  his  natural  mother  as  holding 
that  connection  to  him,  and  claimed  the  glazier's 
wife  as  his  real  maternal  parent.  On  the  other 
hand,  his  father,  without  making  his  identity 
known,  caused  an  annuity  of  1,200  francs  to  be 
given  him,  which  covered  his  educational  ex- 
penses from  his  fourth  to  his  tenth  year. 

In  1730  he  attended  the  Mazarin  College,  which 

was  controlled  by  the  Jansenists,  who,  discovering 

(281) 


2»2  JEAN  BAPTISTE  LE  ROND  DE  ALEMBERT 

his  wonderful  merit,  and  possibly  being  guided  by 
his  Commentary  on  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  which 
he  wrote  during  the  first  3^ear  of  his  philosophical 
course,  attempted  to  tend  his  talent  in  the  direc- 
tion of  theology.  A  check  being  placed  upon  his 
love  for  poetry  and  mathematics,  he  still  received 
no  teaching  at  college,  except  a  few  primary  les- 
sons from  Caron,  in  the  science  which  was  to  ele- 
vate him  to  prominence.  He  acquired  by  his 
own  unaided  attempts  a  knowledge  of  the  higher 
mathematics  after  leaving  college,  which  caused 
him  to  credit  himself  with  certain  discoveries 
which  he  afterward  learned  had  already  been 
demonstrated.  He  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in 
1738,  but  did  no  practising.  He  next  undertook 
the  study  of  medicine,  but  his  natural  conditions 
overcoming  him,  he  requested  the  return  of  his 
mathematical  books,  which  he  had  sent  a  friend  to 
retain  until  he  had  taken  his  degree.  He  was 
made  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  in 
1 741,  to  which  he  had  formerly  presented  several 
writings.  He  was  the  author  of  UAlcmbcrf  s  Prin- 
ciple, in  relation  to  the  solution  of  complex  dynam- 
ical problems.  He  published  his  Reflexions  sur  le 
cause generale  des  Vents,  which  secured  for  him  the 
prize  medal  of  the  Academy  of  Berlin  in  1746,  and 
which  added  to  his  fame.  Having  dedicated  his 
work  to  Frederick,  King  of  Prussia,  who  had  just 
brought  a  glorious  campaign  to  a  close,  the  latter 
forwarded  him  a  polite  letter  and  placed  him 
among  his  literary  friends.  In  1754  Frederick 
prevailed  upon  D'AIembert  to  receive  a  pension  of 
1,200  francs  per  year.     In   1763,  while  on  a  visit  to 


JEAN  BAPTISTE  LE  ROND  DE  ALEMBERT    283 

Berlin,  he  refused  the  presidency  of  the  Academy 
of  Berlin,  which  had  been  tendered  to  him  several 
times  before.  In  1752  he  published  his  treatise  on 
the  Resistance  of  Fluids,  and  about  the  same  time  he 
published,  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Academy  of  Ber- 
lin, Researches  Concerning  the  Integral  Calculus,  a 
branch  of  mathematical  science.  His  principal 
works  are  :  Traits  de  Dynamique  (1743)  ;  Traits  de 
V^quilibre  et  dii  movement  des  fiuides  (1744);  Re- 
cherche s  sitr  la  precession  des  equi?ioxes  et  stir  la 
nutation  de  I'axe  de  la  tcrre  (1749);  Rccherches  sur 
differ  e7its  points  importants  du  syst^ine  du  monde{\  754); 
Melanges  de  philosophic  et  du  litterature ;  Elements 
de  philosophic ;  Opuscules  mathematiques  (1761-80), 
etc.  He  was  associated  with  Diderot  in  the  prep- 
aration of  the  far-famed  Dictionnaire  Encyclope'- 
dique.  In  1762  Catherine  of  Russia  offered  him  a  sal- 
ary of  100,000  francs  to  become  her  son's  instruc- 
tor, but  he  refused,  even  after  higher  remuneration 
had  been  offered.  In  1755,  on  Pope  Benedict 
XIV. 's  motion,  he  was  made  a  member  of  the  In- 
stitute of  Bologna.  David  Hume  held  him  in  such 
esteem  that  he  willed  him  i,*200. 

ANECDOTES    OF    BOSSUET. 

Bossuet's  talents  for  the  pulpit  disclosed  themselves 
almost  from  his  infancy.  He  was  announced  as  a 
phenomenon  of  early  oratory  at  the  hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet,  where  merit  of  all  kinds  was  summoned  to  ap- 
pear, and  was  judged  of,  well  or  ill.  He  there,  before  a 
numerous  and  chosen  assembly,  made  a  sermon  on  a 
given  subject,  almost  without  preparation,  and  with  the 
highest  applause.  The  preacher  was  only  sixteen  years 
old,  and  the  hour  was  eleven  at  night ;  which  gave  occa- 
sion to  Voiture,  who  abounded  in  plays  on  words,  to  say 
that  he  had  never  heard  so  early  or  so  late  a  sermon. 


i 


284   JEAN  BAPTISTE  LE  ROND  DE  ALEMBERT 

One  of  those  persons  who  make  a  parade  of  their  un- 
belief, wished  to  hear,  or  rather  to  brave  him.  Too 
proud  to  confess  himself  conquered,  but  too  just  to  re- 
fuse the  homage  due  to  a  great  man,  he  exclaimed,  on 
leaving  the  place,  "This  man  to  me  is  the  first  of 
preachers  ;  for  I  feel  it  is  by  him  I  should  be  converted, 
if  I  were  ever  to  be  so." 

He  one  day  presented  to  Louis  XIV.  Father  Mabil- 
lon,  as  "  the  most  learned  Religeuse  of  his  Kingdom." 
— "And  the  humblest  too,"  said  le  Tellier,  Archbishop 
of  Rheims,  who  thereby  thought  to  epigrammatise 
adroitly  the  modesty  of  the  prelate.  The  famed  Arch- 
bishop, however,  humiliated  as  he  felt  himself  by  the 
elevated  genius  of  Bossuet,  was  too  just  to  suffer  it  to 
be  slighted.  Some  young  court  chaplains,  one  of  whom 
has  since  occupied  high  stations,  talking  one  day  in 
his  presence,  with  French  levity,  of  the  works  and 
abilities  of  the  Bishop  of  Meaux,  whom  they  ventured 
to  ridicule  ;  "Be  silent,"  said  le  Tellier,  "  respect  your 
master  and  ours." — Translated  by  John  Aikin, 


ALEXANDER,  Archibald,  D.D.,  an  Ameri- 
can clergyman  and  scholar,  born  in  Rockbridge 
County,  Va.,  April  17,  1772;  died  at  Princeton, 
N.  J.,  October  22,  185 1.  He  was  educated  at 
Hampden-Sidney  College  ;  studied  theology,  and 
was  licensed  to  preach  in  1791.  He  was  chosen 
President  of  Hampden-Sidney  College  in  1796; 
became  pastor  of  a  Presbyterian  church  in  Phila- 
delphia in  1807;  and  in  1812,  upon  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  Presbyterian  Theological  Seminary  at 
Princeton,  was  appointed  Professor  of  Theology 
in  that  institution,  retaining  that  position  until  his 
death.  He  wrote  Outlines  of  the  Evidences  of 
Christianity,  Treatise  on  the  Canon  of  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments,  History  of  the  Patriarchs,  History 
of  the  Israelites,  Annals  of  the  Jewish  Nation,  Ad- 
vice to  a  Young  Christian,  Bible  Dictionary,  Counsels 
from  the  Aged  to  the  Young,  ThougJits  on  Religious 
Experience,  African  Colonization,  History  of  the  Log 
College,  and  a  work  on  Moral  Science,  which  was 
published  after  his  death.  Of  this  last  work  the 
Westminster  Review  says : 

Though  not  aspiring  to  the  dignity  of  a  treatise,  it 
forms  a  most  compact  and  convenient  text-book.  It  is 
a  calm,  clear  stream  of  abstract  reasoning,  flowing  from 
a  thoughtful,  well-instructed  mind,  without  any  parade 
of  logic,  but  with  an  intuitive  simplicity  and  directness 
which  gives  an  almost  axiomatic  force.  From  this 
characteristic  we  could  almost  have  conjectured  what  is 


286  ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER 

Stated  in  the  preface,  that  the  study  of  ethical  philoso- 
phy was  the  author's  favorite  pursuit  for  at  least  three- 
score years  ;  and  that  for  forty  years  it  formed  a  branch 
of  academical  instruction  in  connection  with  his  theo- 
logical course. 

PROOFS   OF    THE    TRUTHS   OF    CHRISTIANITY. 

If  the  Christian  religion  is  "a  cunningly  devised 
fable,"  there  are  two  things  relative  to  it  v/hich  can 
never  be  satisfactorily  accounted  for.  The  one  is,  that 
falsehood  should  be  surrounded  with  so  many  of  the 
evidences  and  circumstances  by  which  truth  is  charac- 
terized ;  the  other,  that  an  imposture,  proceeding  from 
minds  exceedingly  corrupt,  should  be  marked  with  such 
purity  in  its  moral  principles,  and  such  a  benevolent 
and  peaceful  tendency  in  all  its  provisions  and  precepts. 
Whatever  objections  may  be  made  to  the  system  of 
Christianity,  these  difficulties  will  stand  in  the  way  of 
the  deist ;  and  he  never  can  overcome  them. 

Let  us  calmly  contemplate  this  subject.  The  Chris- 
tian religion  is  founded  on  facts  for  the  truth  of  which 
an  appeal  is  made  to  testimony — the  ground  on  which 
all  other  ancient  facts  are  received.  If  these  facts  did 
really  occur,  then  Christianity  must  be  true.  If  they 
did  not,  why  can  it  not  be  shown  ?  Was  there  ever  a 
case,  in  which  transactions  so  public,  and  in  the  truth 
of  which  so  many  persons  were  interested,  were  so  cir- 
cumstanced as  to  baffle  every  effort  to  detect  the  fraud 
attempted  to  be  imposed  on  the  world  ?  Here  then  is 
a  wonderful  thing.  The  defenders  of  Christianity  ap- 
peal to  facts  attested  by  many  competent  and  credible 
witnesses  ;  they  show  that  these  witnesses  could  not 
themselves  have  been  deceived  in  the  nature  of  the  things 
concerning  which  they  give  their  testimony ;  they  demon- 
strate from  every  circumstance  of  their  condition  that 
they  could  have  had  no  motive  for  wishing  to  propagate 
the  belief  of  these  facts,  if  they  had  not  been  true  ; 
that,  in  giving  the  testimony  which  they  did,  they  put 
to  risk,  and  actually  sacrificed,  everything  most  dear  to 
men  ;  that,  even  if  they  could  have  been  induced  by 
some  inconceivable  motive  to  propagate  what  they  knew 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER  2S7 

to  be  false,  it  was  morally  impossible  that  they  could 
have  persuaded  any  persons  to  believe  them  ;  because 
the  things  related  by  them  being  of  recent  date  and 
public  nature,  and  the  names  of  persons  and  places 
specified,  nothing  v/ould  have  been  easier  than  to  dis- 
prove false  assertions  so  situated.  Moreover,  the  per- 
sons who  first  became  disciples  of  Christ  and  members 
of  the  church  from  the  declarations  of  the  apostles 
cannot  be  supposed  to  have  admitted  the  truth  of  these 
things  without  examination,  or  every  principle  of  self- 
preservation  must  have  been  awake  to  guard  them 
against  delusion.  l>y  attaching  themselves  to  this  new 
sect  "everyv/here  spoken  against,"  and  persecuted  both 
by  Jews  and  Gentiles,  they  did,  literally,  forsake  all  that 
man  holds  most  dear  in  this  life.  If  there  had  existed 
no  persons  possessed  of  power  and  sagacity,  who  were 
deeply  interested  in  the  refutation  of  falsehoods  which 
would  implicate  them  in  disgrace,  the  evidence  would 
not  be  so  overwhelming  as  it  is  ;  but  we  know  that  all 
the  power  and  learning  of  the  Jewish  nation,  and  also 
of  the  Roman  Government,  were  arrayed  against  the 
publishers  of  the  gospel ;  for  just  in  proportion  as  the 
report  of  these  men  gained  credit,  the  conduct  of  those 
who  persecuted  Christ  unto  death  would  appear  clothed 
in  the  darkest  colors.  Why  did  they  not,  at  once,  come 
forward  and  crush  the  imposture  ?  It  has  also  been 
fully  established  by  the  friends  of  revelation,  that  we 
are  in  possession  of  the  genuine  records  published  soon 
after  the  events  occurred.  There  is  no  room  for  any 
suspicion  that  the  gospels  were  the  fabrication  of  a 
later  age  than  that  of  the  apostles  ;  or  that  they  have 
been  corrupted  and  interpolated  since  they  were  writ- 
ten. And  finally,  the  effects  produced  by  the  publica- 
tion of  these  facts  are  such  as  almost  to  constrain  the 
belief  that  the  gospel  narrative  is  true  ;  for  the  rapid 
and  extensive  progress  of  the  Christian  religion  can, 
upon  no  other  principles,  be  rationally  accounted  for. 
It  would  be  as  great  a  miracle  for  a  few  unlearned 
fishermen  and  mechanics  to  be  successful  in  founding  a 
religion,  which  in  a  short  time  changed  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  world,  as  any  recorded  in  the  New  Testament. 
Now,  supposing  the  facts  in  the  question  to  be  truCj, 


386 


ARCHIBALD  ALEXANDER 


what  other,  or  greater,  evidence  of  the  truth  could  we 
have  had  than  we  already  possess  ?  What  other  facts 
of  equal  antiquity  are  half  as  well  attested  ?  Let  the 
deist  choose  any  portion  of  ancient  history,  and  adduce 
his  testimony  in  proof  of  the  facts,  and  then  compare 
the  evidence  in  their  support  with  that  which  the  friends 
of  Christianity  have  exhibited  for  all  the  material  facts 
recorded  in  the  gospel ;  and  I  shall  be  disappointed  if 
sie  does  not,  upon  an  impartial  examination,  find  the 
latter  to  be  much  more  various  and  convincing. — Pre-' 
iiminary  Discourse  on  the  Evide?ices  of  Christianity. 


ALEXANDER,  James  Waddell,  D.D.,  an 
American  Presbyterian  clergyman,  son  of  Rev. 
Archibald  Alexander;  born  in  Louisa  County, 
Va.,  March  13,  1804;  died  July  31,  1859.  He 
graduated  at  Princeton  College  in  1820;  was  a 
tutor  there  until  1827,  when  he  became  pastor  of 
a  Presbyterian  church  at  Charlotte  Court-House, 
Va.,  and  in  1829  of  one  at  Trenton,  N.  J.  In 
1833-34  he  was  Professor  of  Belles-Lettres  and 
Lafin  in  Princeton  College;  Avas  pastor  of  the 
Duane  Street  Presbyterian  Church,  New  York, 
1844-49;  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical  History, 
Church  Government,  and  Sacred  Rhetoric  in 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary,  1849-51.  In 
1851  the  Duane  Street  church  was  reorganized  as 
the  Fifth  Avenue  church,  New  York,  and  he  again 
became  its  pastor,  a  position  which  he  held  until 
his  death.  He  was  a  frequent  contributor  to  re- 
ligious and  literary  periodicals,  and  wrote  many 
books,  among  which  are  more  than  thirty  small 
volumes  for  the  American  Sunday-School  Union: 
Memoirs  of  Rev.  Archibald  Alexander,  his  father; 
Consolation ;  Sacramental  Discourses ;  Thoughts  on 
Family  Worship;  Plain  Words  to  a  Young  Communi- 
cant ;  Thoughts  on  Preaching ;  Discourses  on  Chris- 
tian Faith  and  Practice,  and  The  American  Mechanic 
Xsid  Workingman  s  Companion. 
Vol.  T,--J9  (289) 


290  JAMES   WADDELL  ALEXANDER 


ON    EXTEMPORANEOUS   PREACHING. 

"You  have  expressed,"  he  says,  addressing  a  young 
preacher,  "  fears  as  to  your  ever  becoming  an  extem- 
poraneous preacher.  Many  who  have  excelled  in  this 
way,  have  had  fears  like  yours.  My  counsel  is,  that 
you  boldly  face  the  obstacles  and  begin  ex  ahrupto.  The 
longer  you  allow  yourself  to  become  fixed  in  another 
and  exclusive  habit,  the  greater  will  be  your  difficulty 
in  throwing  it  aside.  Some  of  the  authors  whom  I  re- 
spect recommend  a  beginning  by  gradual  approaches  ; 
such  as  committing  to  memory  a  part,  and  then  going 
on  from  that  impulse.  This  is  what  Cicero  illustrates 
by  the  fine  comparison  of  a  boat  which  is  propelled  by 
its  original  impulse,  and  comes  up  to  the  shore  even 
v.hen  the  oars  are  taken  in.  Others  te'l  you  to  throw 
in  passages  extemporaneously  amidst  your  written  ma- 
terials ;  as  one  who  swims  with  corks,  but  occasionally 
leaves  them.  Doubtless  many  have  p^-ofited  by  such 
devices  ;  yet  if  called  on  to  prescribe  the  very  best 
method,  I  should  not  prescribe  these.  Again,  there- 
fore, I  say  begin  at  onee.  When  one  orre  inquired  of 
the  celebrated  Gilbert  Stuart  how  young  persons  should 
be  taught  to  paint,  he  replied:  'Just  as  puppies  are 
taught  to  swim — chuck  them  in  ! '  No  one  learns  to 
swim  in  the  sea  of  preaching  without  goinq;  into  the 
water. 

"  As  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that  any  man  can  learn 
to  preach  extempore  who  can  talk  extempore — always 
provided  that  he  has  somewhat  to  say — my  earnest  ad- 
vice to  you  is  that  you  never  make  the  attempt  without 
being  sure  of  your  matter.  Of  all  the  defects  of  utter- 
ance I  have  ever  known,  the  most  serious  is  having 
nothing  to  utter.  In  all  your  experiments,  therefore, 
iecure  by  pre-meditation  a  good  amount  of  material, 
and  let  it  be  digested  and  arranged  in  your  head  accord- 
ing to  an  exact  partition  and  a  logical  concatenation. 
The  more  completely  this  latter  provision  is  attended 
to,  the  less  will  be  the  danger  of  losing  your  self-pos- 
session or  your  chain  of  ideas.  Common-sense  must  ad- 
^it  that  tfie  great  thinjj  is   to   have   the   nal  ter.     All 


JAMES    VVADDELL   ALEXANDER  291 

speaking  which  does  not  presuppose  this  is  a  sham. 
And  of  method  it  may  be  observed  that  even  if  divisions 
and  subdivisions  are  not  formally  announced,  they 
should  be  clearly  before  the  mind,  as  affording  a  most 
important  clew  in  the  remembrance  of  what  has  been 
prepared.  If  you  press  me  to  say  which  is  absolutely 
the  best  practice  in  regard  to  *  notes,'  properly  so 
called,  I  unhesitatingly  say,  use  none.  Carry  no  scrap 
of  writing  into  the  pulpit.  Let  your  scheme,  with  all  its 
branches,  be  written  on  your  mental  tablet. 

"  Do  not  prepare  your  words.  If  you  would  avail  your- 
self of  the  plastic  power  of  excitement  in  a  great  assem- 
bly to  create  for  the  gushing  thought  a  mould  of  fitting 
diction,  you  will  not  spend  a  moment  on  the  words  ; 
following  Horace :  *  Verbaque  provisam  rem  non  invita 
sequentur.'  Nothing  more  effectually  ruffles  that  com- 
posure of  mind  which  the  speaker  needs,  than  to  have  a 
disjointed  train  of  half-remembered  words  floating  in 
the  mind.  For  which  reason  few  persons  have  ever 
been  successful  in  a  certain  method  which  I  have  seen 
proposed,  to  wit :  that  a  young  speaker  should  prepare 
his  manuscript,  give  it  a  thorough  reading  beforehand, 
and  then  preach  with  a  general  recollection  of  its  con- 
tents. The  result  is  that  the  mind  is  in  a  libration  and 
pother  betwixt  the  word  in  the  paper  and  the  probably 
better  word  which  comes  to  the  tip  of  the  tongue. 
Generally  speaking,  the  best  possible  word  is  the  one 
which  is  born  of  the  thought  in  the  presence  of  the 
assembly.  And  the  less  you  think  about  words  as  a 
separate  affair,  the  better  they  will  be." — Thoughts  on 
Preaching, 


ALEXANDER,  Joseph  Addison,  D.D.,  an 
American  biblical  scholar,  son  of  Rev.  Archibald 
Alexander;  born  in  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  April  24, 
1009;  died  at  Princeton,  N.  J.,  January  28,  i860. 
He  graduated  at  Princeton  Colleg-e  in  1826,  and 
was  Adjunct  Professor  of  Ancient  Languages  and 
Literature,  1830-33.  He  was  a  professor  in  Prince- 
ton Theological  Seminary  from  1851  until  his 
death,  holding  successively  the  chairs  of  Oriental 
and  Biblical  Literature,  of  Church  History  and 
Government,  and  of  New  Testament  Literature 
and  Biblical  Greek.  He  published  two  volumes 
of  Sermons  ;  Essays  on  tJie  Primitive  Church  Offices  ; 
Commentaries  on  various  books  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment ;  The  Psalms  Translated  and  Explained,  and 
Isaiah  Translated  and  Explai?ied,  the  last  two  being 
his  most  notable  works. 


THE   DOWNFALL   OF   BABYLONIA  :  Isatah  XX. 

3.  And  it  shall  be  (or  come  to  pass)  in  the  day  of  Jeho- 
vah's causing  thee  to  rest  from  thy  toil  (or  suffering,  and 
from  thy  conunotion  (or  disquietude), and  from  the  hard  ser- 
vice which  was  wrought  by  thee  (or  imposed  upon  thee).  In 
this  verse  and  the  following  c  ontext,  the  prophet,  in 
order  to  reduce  the  general  piomise  of  the  foregoing 
verse  to  a  more  graphic  and  in.pressive  form,  recurs  to 
the  downfall  of  Babylon  as  the  beginning  of  the  series  of 
deliverances  which  he  had  predicted,  and  describes  the 
effect  upon  those  most  concerned,  by  putting  into  the 
mouth  of  Israel  a  song  of  triumph  over  their  oppressor. 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  ALEXANDER  293 

This  is  universally  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  finest  spec- 
imens of   Hebrew,  and  indeed  of  ancient  composition. 

4.  The7i  shall  thou  raise  this  song  over  the  king  of  Baby- 
Ion,  and  say,  Hoiu  hath  the  oppressor  ceased,  the  golden 
[city\  ceased f  The  meaning  of  the  first  clause  is,  of 
course,  that  Israel  would  have  occasion  to  express  such 
feelings.  The  King  here  introduced  is  an  ideal  person- 
age, whose  downfall  represents  that  of  the  Babylonian 
monarchy. 

5.  This  verse  contains  the  answer  to  the  question  in 
the  one  before  it.  Jehovah  hath  broken  the  staff  of  the 
wicked,  the  rod  of  the  rulers.  The  rod  and  staff  are 
common  figures  for  dominion ;  and  their  being  broken, 
for  its  destruction. 

6.  Smiting  Jiations  in  anger  by  a  stroke  without  cessation^ 
ruling  nations  in  7a rath  by  a  rule  without  restraint  i^xttx^Wy, 
which  he  or  one  indefinitely,  did  not  restrain).  The  parti- 
ciples may  agree  grammatically  either  with  the  rod  or 
with  the  King  who  wields  it.  The  English  Version  ap- 
plies the  last  clause  only  to  the  punishment.  But  the 
great  majority  both  of  the  oldest  and  the  latest  writers 
make  the  whole  descriptive  of  the  Babylonian  tyranny. 

7.  At  rest,  quiet,  is  the  whole  earth.  They  burst  forth 
into  singing  (or  a  shout  of  joy).  There  is  no  inconsist- 
ency between  the  clauses,  as  the  first  is  not  descriptive 
of  silence,  but  of  tranquillity  and  rest,  "  The  land  had 
rest "  is  a  phrase  employed  in  the  Book  of  Judges  to 
describe  the  condition  of  the  country  after  a  great  na- 
tional deliverance.  The  verb  to  burst  is  peculiarly  de- 
scriptive of  an  ebullition  of  joy  long  suppressed,  or 
suddenly  succeeding  grief, 

8.  Not  only  the  earth  and  its  inhabitants  take  part 
in  this  triumphant  song  or  shout,  but  the  trees  of  the 
forest.  Also  (or  even)  the  cypresses  rejoice  with  respect  to 
thee,  [the  cedars  of]  Lebanon  [saying],  Now  that  thou 
art  fallen  {Viterddly  lain  down),  the  feller  (or  woodman, 
literally  the  cutter)  shall  not  come  up  against  us.  Now 
that  we  are  safe  from  thee,  we  fear  no  other  enemy. 
As  to  the  meaning  of  the  figures  in  this  verse,  there 
are  various  opinions  ;  but  the  only  one  that  seems 
consistent  with  a  pure  taste  is  that  which  supposes  this 
to  be  merely  a  part  of  one  great  picture,  representing 


294  JOSEPH  ADDISON'  ALEXANDER 

universal  nature  as  rejoicing.  Both  here  and  elsewhere, 
in  the  sacred  books  inanimate  nature  is  personified,  and 
speaks  for  itself,  instead  of  being  merely  spoken  of. 

9.  The  bold  personification  is  now  extended  from  the 
earth  and  its  forest  to  the  invisible  or  lower  world,  the 
inhabitants  of  which  are  represented  as  aroused  at  the 
approach  of  the  new  victim,  and  as  coming  forth  to 
meet  him.  Hell  from  beneath  is  moved  (or  in  commotion^ 
for  thee  {i.e.  on  account  of  thee)  to  ineet  thee  [at]  thy 
coming;  it  rouses  for  thee  the  giants  (the  gigantic  shades 
or  spectres),  «//  tJie  chief  o?ics  (literally  he-goats)  of  the 
earth  ;  it  raises  from  their  thrones  all  the  kings  of  the  na- 
tions. The  word  translated  hell  has  already  been  ex- 
plained as  meaning,  first,  a  grave  or  individual  sepulchre, 
and  then  the  grave  as  a  general  receptacle,  indiscrimi- 
nately occupied  by  all  the  dead  without  respect  to  char- 
acter ;  as  when  we  say,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  evil 
and  the  good  lie  down  together  in  the  grave,  not  in  a 
single  tomb,  which  would  be  false,  but  underground,  and 
in  a  common  state  of  death  and  burial.  The  English 
word  Hell,  though  now  appropriated  to  the  condition  or 
the  place  of  future  torments,  corresponds,  in  etymology 
and  early  usage,  to  the  Hebrew  word  in  question.  The 
passage  comprehends  two  elements,  and  only  two  : 
religious  verities  or  certain  facts,  and  poetical  embel- 
lishments. It  may  not  be  easy  to  distinguish  clearly 
between  these  ;  but  it  is  only  between  these  that  we  are 
able,  or  have  any  occasion,  to  distinguish.  The  admis- 
sion of  a  third,  in  the  shape  of  superstitious  fables,  is  as 
false  in  rhetoric  as  in  theology.  The  shades  or  spectres 
of  the  dead  might  be  conceived  as  actually  larger  than 
the  living  man,  since  that  which  is  shadowy  or  indistinct 
is  commonly  exaggerated  by  the  fancy.  Or  there  may 
be  an  allusion  to  the  Canaanitish  giants  who  were  ex- 
terminated by  the  divine  command,  and  might  well  be 
chosen  to  represent  the  whole  class  of  departed  sinners. 
Or,  in  this  particular  case,  we  may  suppose  the  kings 
and  great  ones  of  the  earth  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  vulgar  dead  as  giants  or  gigantic  forms. 

I  o.  All  of  them  shall  answer  and  say  to  thee :  Thou  also 
art  made  weak  as  we,  to  us  art  thou  likened  I  This  is  a 
tatural  expression  of  surprise  that  one  so  far  superior 


JOSEPH  ADDISON  ALEXANDER  295 

to  themselves  should  now  be  a  partaker  of  their  weak- 
ness and  disgrace.  The  interrogative  form  given  to  the 
last  clause  by  all  the  English  versions  is  entirely  ar- 
bitrary, and  much  less  expressive  than  the  simple  asser- 
tion or  exclamation  preferred  by  the  oldest  and  the 
latest  writers. 

11.  Down  to  the  grave  is  brought  thy  pride  {or  pomp),  fhe 
tnusic  of  thy  harps;  under  thee  is  spread  the  worm  ;  thy 
covering  is  vermin.  The  word  harp  is  evidently  put  for 
musical  instruments  or  music  in  general,  and  this  for 
mirth  and  revelry.  Some  suppose  an  allusion  to  the 
practice  of  embalming,  but  the  words  seem  naturally 
only  to  suggest  the  common  end  of  all  mankind,  even 
the  greatest  not  excepted.  The  imagery  of  the  clause  is 
vividly  exhibited  in  Gill's  homely  paraphrase  :  "  Nothing 
but  worms  over  him  and  worms  under  him ;  worms  his 
bed,  and  worms  his  bed-clothes." 

12.  Ifcna  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  Lucifer,  son  of  the 
morning—felled  to  the  ground,  thou  that  didst  lord  it  otxr 
the  nations.  In  the  two  other  places  where  the  word 
translated  Lucifer  occurs,  it  is  an  imperative,  signifying 
howl.  This  sense  is  also  put  upon  it  here  by  the  Peshi- 
to  ;  but  all  the  other  ancient  versions  and  all  the  lead- 
ing Rabbins  make  the  word  a  noun,  denoting  ^r/^ A/ ^«^,  or 
more  specifically^r;^/;/ j/ar/  or,  according  to  the  ancients, 
more  specifically  still,  the  Morning  Star  or  harbinger  of 
daylight,  called  in  Greek  Heosphoros,  and  in  Latin 
Lucifer.  The  same  derivation  and  interpretation  is 
adopted  by  the  latest  writers.  Some  of  the  Fathers — 
regarding  Luke  x.  18,  as  an  explanation  of- this  verse — 
apply  it  to  the  fall  of  Satan,  from  which  has  arisen  the 
popular  perversion  of  the  beautiful  name  Lucifer  to 
signify  the  Devil.  In  the  last  clause  the  figure  of  a 
fallen  star  is  exchanged  for  that  of  a  prostrate  tree. 
The  last  clause  is  a  description  of  the  Babylonian  tyr- 
anny. 

13.  His  fall  is  aggravated  by  the  impious  extravagance 
of  his  pretensions.  And  (yet)  thou  hadst  said  in  thy  heart 
(or  to  thyself^,  The  heavens  will  /  mount  (or  scale),  above 
the  stars  of  God  will  L  raise  viy  throne,  and  L  will  sit  in  the 
mount  of  meeting  (or  assembly)  in  the  sides  of  the  North. 
He  is  here  described  as  aiming  at  equality  with  God 


896  JOSEPH  ADDISON  ALEXANDER 

himself.  There  are  two  distinct  interpretations  of  the 
last  clause  ;  one  held  by  the  early  writers,  the  other  by 
the  moderns.  According  to  the  first,  it  relates  to  the 
mountain  where  God  agreed  to  meet  the  people,  and  to 
make  himself  known  to  them  (Ex.  xxv.  22  ;  xxxix.  42, 
43).  According  to  this  view  of  the  passage,  it  describes 
the  King  of  Babylon  as  insulting  God  by  threatening  to 
erect  his  throne  upon  those  consecrated  hills,  or  even 
affecting  to  be  God,  like  Antichrist,  of  whom  Paul  says, 
with  obvious  allusion  to  this  passage,  that  he  opposeth 
and  exalteth  himself  above  all  that  is  called  God,  or  is 
worshipped,  so  that  he,  as  God,  sitteth  in  the  temple  of 
God,  showing  himself  that  he  is  God  (II.  Thess.  ii.  4). 
Whether  the  weight  of  argument  preponderates  in  favor 
of  the  old  interpretation  or  against  it,  that  of  authority 
is  altogether  in  favor  of  the  new  one.  This  makes  the 
Babylonian  speak  the  language  of  a  heathen,  and  with 
reference  to  the  old  and  wide-spread  oriental  notion  of 
a  very  high  mountain  in  the  extreme  north,  where  the 
gods  were  believed  to  reside,  as  in  the  Greek  Olympus. 
This  is  the  Meru  of  the  Hindu  mythology,  and  the  El- 
borz  or  Elborj  of  the  old  Zend  books.  The  meaning 
of  the  clause,  as  thus  explained,  is  "  I  will  take  my  seat 
among,  or  above,  the  gods  upon  their  holy  mountain." 
This  interpretation  is  supposed  to  be  obscurely  hinted 
in  the  Septuagint  version.  As  the  expression  is  in  this 
case  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  heathen,  there  is  not  the 
same  objection  to  it  as  in  the  other  cases,  where  it 
seems  to  be  recognized  and  sanctioned  by  the  writer. 
The  general  meaning  is  of  course  the  same  on  either 
hypothesis.  The  expression  stars  of  God  does  not 
merely  describe  them  as  his  creatures,  but  as  being 
near  him  in  the  upper  world,  or  heaven. 

14.  /  will  moil  tit  above  the  cloud-heights;  I  will  make 
myself  like  the  Most  High.  This  is  commonly  regarded 
as  a  simple  expression  of  unbounded  arrogance  ;  but 
there  may  be  an  allusion  to  the  oriental  custom  of  call- 
ing their  kings  gods,  or  to  the  fact  that  the  Syrian  and 
Phoenician  kings  did  actually  so  describe  themselves 
(Ezek.  xxviii.  2,  6,  9  ;  II.  Mace.  ix.  21).  According  to 
some  writers,  the  singular  noun  is  used  here  to  denote 
the  cloud  of  the  Divine  presence  in  the  tabernacle  and 


JOSEPH  ADDISON'  ALEXANDER  297 

temple.  This  would  agree  well  with  the  old  interpreta- 
tion of  verse  13  ;  but  according  to  the  other,  cloud  is  a 
collective,  meaning  clouds  in  general. 

15.  But  instead  of  being  exalted  to  heaven,  thou  shalt 
be  brought  down  to  hell ^  to  the  depths  of  the  pit.  Against 
the  strict  application  of  the  last  clause  to  the  grave  is 
the  subsequent  description  of  the  royal  body  as  un- 
buried.  But  the  imagery  is  unquestionably  borrowed 
from  the  grave.  Some  understand  by  sides  the  hori- 
zontal excavations  in  the  oriental  sepulchres  or  cata- 
combs. But  according  to  its  probable  etymology  the 
Hebrew  word  does  not  mean  sides  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
but  rather  hinder  parts,  and  then  remote  parts  or  ex- 
tremities, as  it  is  explained  by  the  Targum  here  and  in 
verse  13.  The  specific  reference  may  be  either  to  ex- 
treme height,  extreme  distance,  or  extreme  depth, 
according  to  the  context.  Here  the  last  sense  is  re- 
quired by  the  mention  of  the  pit ;  and  the  word  is 
accordingly  translated  in  the  N\x\%dXt  profundum. 

16.  Those  seeing  thee  shall  gaze  (or  stare)  at  thee^  they 
shall  look  at  thee  attentively  [and  say],  Is  this  the  man  that 
made  the  earth  shake,  that  made  the  kingdoms  trembUt 
The  scene  in  the  other  world  is  closed  ;  and  the  Prophet, 
or  triumphant  Israel,  is  now  describing  what  shall  take 
place  above  ground.  The  gazing  mentioned  in  the  first 
clause  is  not  merely  the  effect  of  curiosity,  but  of  in- 
credulous surprise.     .     .     . 

19.  With  the  customary  burial  of  kings  he  now  con- 
trasts the  treatment  of  the  Babylonian's  body.  And 
ihou  art  cast  out  from  thy  grave,  like  a  despised  branch,  the 
raiment  of  the  slain,  pierced  with  the  sword,  goiiig  down  to 
the  stones  of  the  pit  [even]  like  a  trampled  carcass  [as 
thou  art].  That  the  terms  of  the  prediction  were  lit- 
erally fulfilled  in  the  last  king  of  Babylon,  is  highly 
probable  from  the  hatred  with  which  this  impious  king 
— as  Xenophon  calls  him — was  regarded  by  the  people. 
Such  a  supposition  is  not  precluded  by  the  same  his- 
torian's statement  that  Cyrus  gave  a  general  permission 
to  bury  the  dead,  for  his  silence  in  relation  to  the  king 
rather  favors  the  conclusion  that  he  was  made  an  ex- 
ception, either  by  the  people  or  the  conqueror.  There 
is  no  need,  however,  of  seeking  historical  details  in  this 


298  JOSEPH  ADDISON  ALEXANDER 

passage,  which  is  rather  a  prediction  of  the  downfall  of 
the  empire  than  the  fall  of  any  individual  monarch, 

20.  Thou  shalt  not  be  joined  with  them  [the  other  kings 
of  the  nation]  /«  burial,  because  thy  land  thou  hast  de- 
stroyed, thy  people  thou  hast  slain.  Let  the  seed  of  evil- 
doers be  tiumed  no  more  forever.  The  only  natural  in- 
terpretation of  these  words  is  that  which  applies  them 
to  the  Babylonian  tyranny  as  generally  exercised.  The 
charge  here  brought  against  the  king  implies  that  his 
power  was  given  him  for  a  very  different  purpose.  The 
older  writers  read  the  last  clause  as  a  simple  prediction. 
Thus,  the  English  Version  is  "  The  seed  of  evil-doers 
shall  never  be  renowned."  But  the  later  writers  seem 
to  make  it  more  emphatic  by  giving  the  future  the  force 
of  an  imperative  or  optative.  Some  of  the  older  writers 
understand  the  clause  to  mean  that  the  names  of  the 
wicked  shall  not  be  perpetuated  by  transmission  in  the 
line  of  their  descendants  ;  others  explain  the  verb  as 
meaning  "to  be  called," />.,  proclaimed  or  celebrated. 
It  is  now  pretty  generally  understood  to  mean,  or  to  ex- 
press a  wish,  that  the  posterity  of  such  should  not  be 
spoken  of  at  all,  implying  both  extinction  and  oblivion, 
— Isaiah,  Translated  and  Explained. 


I 


1 


ALFIERI,  Count  VlTTORiO,an  Italian  dramatic 
poet,  born  at  Asti,  in  Piedmont,  January  17,  1749, 
and  died  at  Florence,  October  8, 1803.  His  father, 
a  nobleman  of  considerable  estate,  died  while  the 
son  was  an  infant,  and  he  was  sent  to  the  Academy 
and  University  at  Turin,  where  he  received  a  very 
indifferent  education.  Of  philosophy  and  science 
he  acquired  next  to  nothing ;  of  Latin  hardly 
enough  to  read  the  most  elementary  books.  His 
own  provincial  dialect  was  so  different  from  the 
Tuscan,  or  recognized  Italian,  that  the  works  of 
Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Tasso  were  almost  unintel- 
ligible to  him  ;  and  he  had  subsequently  to  learn 
the  language  in  which  he  was  to  immortalize  him- 
self, as  though  it  were  a  foreign  tongue.  He,  how- 
ever, learned  French,  and  this  was  the  only  Ian- 
guage  which  he  could  fairly  read  at  the  age  of 
seven-and-twenty. 

At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  received  permission 
to  travel,  and  passed  two  years  in  various  parts  of 
Italy,  in  France,  England,  and  Holland.  In  1769, 
having  become  of  age,  and  receiving  possession 
of  his  large  fortune,  he  set  out  again  upon  his 
travels,  visiting  Austria,  Prussia,  Denmark,  Swe- 
den, Holland,  England,  Russia,  France,  Spain, 
and  Portugal,  returning  to  Italy  in  1772.  His  life 
up  to  this  time  was  extremely  dissolute,  measured 
even  by  the  loose  standard  of  his  own  time  and 

^299) 


-on  VITTORIO  ALFIERI 

country.  In  1776,  when  he  was  in  his  twenty- 
eighth  year,  he  formed  a  deep  and  lasting  attach- 
ment for  the  Countess  of  Albany,  wife  of  Charles 
Edward  Stuart,  best  known  in  history  as  the 
"  Young  Pretender  "  to  the  English  Crown.  She 
was  a  little  younger  than  Alfieri,  and  lived  most 
unhappily  with  her  husband,  now  verging  upon 
threescore,  whose  character  had  become  in  every 
way  disreputable  since  his  hope  of  the  English 
Crown  had  vanished.  There  is  nothing  to  show 
that  the  intimacy  was  a  "guilty  "  one,  in  the  or- 
dinary acceptation  of  the  word.  He  himself  de- 
clares that  their  intimacy  "  never  exceeded  the 
bounds  of  honor,"  although  his  "  attentions  were 
such  as  to  warrant  the  jealousy  of  her  husband 
and  his  brother,  the  Cardinal  of  York."  Charles 
Edward  died  in  1788,  and  she  soon  afterward  took 
up  her  residence  with  Alfieri,  but  there  is  no  posi- 
tive evidence  that  they  were  ever  married.  The 
last  half  of  the  life  of  Alfieri  was  marked  by  many 
eccentricities,  of  which  there  is  no  need  of  special 
mention. 

His  first  serious  thought  of  becoming  an  author 
dates  at  about  1772.  His  earliest  dramatic  work 
was  Cleopatra,  which  was  brought  upon  the  stage 
at  Turin  in  1775.  From  that  time  he  set  himself 
resolutely  to  become  a  tragic  poet.  It  is  in  this 
character  alone  that  he  is  of  special  interest  to 
after  ages,  although  he  wrote  six  or  more  come- 
dies, several  odes,  a  volume  of  autobiography,  and 
other  prose.  His  tragedies,  nineteen  in  number, 
are  all  cast  in  the  antique  mould,  or,  rather,  such 
an  idea  of  the  antique  spirit  as  he  could  gather 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI  301 

from  the  French  of  Corneille  and  Racine.  His 
tragedies  are  ahnost  independent  of  scenery  and 
incident.  In  no  one  of  them  are  there  more  than 
six  speaking  characters,  and  of  these  rarely  more 
than  three  are  upon  the  stage  at  any  one  time. 
There  is  indeed  often  a  crowd  of  "  Citizens,"  "  Sol- 
diers," "  Councillors,"  and  "  Guards,"  but  they  act 
only  the  part  of  the  "  Chorus  "  of  the  ancient 
drama,  breaking  in  upon  and  emphasizing  the 
declamation  of  the  real  characters.  And  these 
characters  were  almost  entirely  Alfieri  himself, 
whether  they  wore  the  toga  of  Brutus,  the  chlamys 
of  Agis,  or  the  cassock  of  Raimondi  de  Pazzi. 
More  than  half  the  subjects  are  taken  from  ancient 
Greek  and  Roman  legend.  Philip  II.  of  Spain 
and  the  mysterious  Don  Carlos,  Mary  Stuart,  and 
Saul,  King  of  Israel,  each  have  a  place. 

If  we  were  to  assign  the  one  governing  motive 
running  through  the  tragedies  of  Alfieri,  it  should 
be  the  hatred  of  kingly  rule.  "  When  we  think 
of  Alfieri,"  says  Mariotti,  "  we  must  bring  our- 
selves back  to  his  age.  The  regeneration  of  Ital- 
ian character  was  yet  merely  intellectual  and  in- 
dividual, and  Alfieri  was  born  from  that  class 
which  was  the  last  to  feel  the  redeeming  influence. 
Penetrated  with  the  utter  impossibility  of  distin- 
guishing himself  by  immediate  action,  he  was 
forced  to  throw  himself  on  the  last  resources  of 
literature.  He  had  exalted  ideas  of  its  duties  and 
influence :  he  had  exalted  notions  of  the  dignity 
of  man : — an  ardent,  though  a  vague  and  exag- 
gerated love  of  liberty,  and  of  the  manly  virtues 
which  it  is  wont  to  foster.     He  invaded  the  stagfe. 


302  VITTORIO  ALFIERT 

He  wished  to  effect  upon  his  contemporaries  that 
revolution  which  his  own  soul  had  undergone. 
He  wished  to  wake  them  from  their  long  lethargy 
of  servitude ;  to  see  them  thinking,  willing,  striv- 
ing, resisting." 

The  dedications  to  some  of  Alfieri's  tragedies 
are  quite  as  notable  as  anything  in  the  dramas 
themselves.  The  tragedy  of  Agis,  the  Spartan 
King  who  was  put  to  death  by  his  subjects,  is 
dedicated  to  Charles  I.  of  England,  or  rather  to 
his  shade,  for  his  head  had  fallen  a  century  and  a 
half  before.  The  First  Brutus  is  dedicated  to 
George  Washington,  in  a  few  months  to  be  the 
first  President  of  the  United  States.  TJie  Second 
Brutus  is  dedicated  to  "  the  Future  People  of 
Italy,"  such  as  they  might  be  in  a  generation  yet 
to  come  ;  such  as,  it  may  be  hoped,  they  have 
measurably  now  come  to  be.  These  three  Dedi- 
cations are  worthy  to  stand  among  the  things  by 
which  Alfieri  should  be  commemorated: 

Dedication  to  Agis. — Ma)\  ijSd. 

To  the  Most  Sacred  Majesty  of  Charles  the  First,  Khig 

of  Great  Britain,  etc. : 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  may  dedicate  my  Agis,  without 
meanness  or  arrogance,  to  an  unfortunate  and  dead 
King.  As  you  received  your  death  from  the  sentence 
of  an  unjust  ParHament,  this  King  of  Sparta  received 
his  by  a  similar  one  of  the  Ephori.  But  just  as  the  ef- 
fects were  similar,  so  were  the  causes  different.  Agis, 
by  restoring  equality  and  liberty,  wished  to  restore  to 
Sparta  her  virtue  and  her  splendor  ;  hence  he  died  full 
of  glory,  leaving  behind  him  an  everlasting  fame.  You, 
by  attempting  to  violate  all  limits  to  your  authority,  false- 
ly wished  to  procure  your  own  private  good  ;  heace  noth> 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI  303 

ing  remains  of  you  ;  and  the  ineffectual  compassion  of 
others  alone  accompanies  you  to  the  tomb.  The  de- 
signs of  Agis,  generous  and  sublime,  were  afterward 
happily  prosecuted,  and  with  much  glory  to  himself,  by 
Cleomenes,  his  successor,  who  found  the  whole  prepared. 
Your  designs,  common  to  the  herd  of  monarchs,  were 
and  are  perpetually  attempted  by  many  other  princes, 
and  also  carried  into  effect,  but  uniformly  without  fame. 
In  my  opinion,  one  can  in  no  way  make  a  tragedy  of 
your  tragical  death,  the  cause  of  it  not  being  sublime. 
I  should  always  have  thought,  even  if  I  had  not  at- 
tempted to  do  it,  that  from  the  death  of  Agis,  the  true 
grandeur  of  the  Spartan  King  being  considered,  a  noble 
tragedy  might  have  been  constructed.  Both  the  one 
and  the  other  were  and  will  be  a  memorable  example  to 
the  people,  and  a  terrible  one  to  kings  ;  but  with  this 
remarkable  difference  between  them,  that  many  others 
have  been  and  will  be  like  to  that  of  Your  Majesty,  but 
never  one  like  to  that  of  Agis. 

Dedication  to  The  First  Brutus. — December^  lySS. 

To  the  most  illustrious  and  Free  Citizen,  General  Wash- 
ington : 

The  name  of  the  Deliverer  of  America  alone  can 
stand  in  the  title-page  of  the  tragedy  of  the  Deliverer 
of  Rome.  To  you,  most  excellent  and  most  rare  citi- 
zen, I  therefore  dedicate  this  ;  without  first  hinting  at 
even  a  part  of  the  so  many  praises  due  to  yourself,  v/hich 
I  now  deem  all  comprehended  in  the  sole  mention  of 
your  name.  Nor  can  this  my  slight  allusion  appear  ro 
you  contaminated  by  adulation  ;  since,  not  knov/ing  you 
by  person,  and  living  disjoined  from  you  by  the  immense 
ocean,  we  have  but  too  emphatically  nothing  in  common 
between  us  but  the  love  of  glory.  Happy  are  you,  who 
have  been  able  to  build  your  glory  on  the  sublime  and 
eternal  basis  of  love  to  your  country,  demonstrated  by 
actions.  I,  though  not  born  free,  yet  having  abandoned 
in  time  my  Lares,  and  for  no  other  reason  than  that  I 
might  be  able  to  write  loftily  of  Liberty — I  hope  by  this 
means  at  least  to  have  proved  what  might  have  been  my 
love  for  ray  couniry,  if  I  had  indeed  fortunately  belonged 
to  one  that  deserved  the  name.     In  this  single  respect, 


304  Vrj-TORJO   ALFIEKI 

I  do  not   think   myself  wholly  unworthy  to   mingle  my 
name  with  yours. 

Dedication  to  The  Second  Brutus. — Januajy,  i^Sp. 

To  the  Future  People  of  Italy : 

I  hope  that  I  shall  be  pardoned  the  insult  by  you,  O 
generous  and  free  Italians,  that  I  innocently  offered  to 
your  grandfathers,  or  great-grandfathers,  in  presenting 
to  them  the  Two  Brutuses,  tragedies  in  w'hich,  instead  of 
ladies,  interlocutors,  and  actors,  the  people  was  intro- 
duced among  many  most  lofty  personages.  I  also  feel 
how  enormous  the  offence  was  to  attribute  tongue,  hand, 
and  intellect  to  those  who — from  having  entirely  forgot- 
ten that  they  themselves  had  ever  received  these  gifts 
from  nature — thought  it  impossible  that  their  successors 
should  ever  re-acquire  them. — "  But  if  my  words  are 
destined  to  be  seeds  which  fructify  in  honor  to  those 
whom  I  arouse  from  death,"  I  flatter  myself  that  per- 
haps justice  will  be  repaid  me  by  you,  and  not  dissev- 
ered from  some  praise.  Indeed  I  am  certain  that  if  on 
this  account  I  received  blame  froni  your  ancestors,  it 
would  not,  however,  be  exempted  totally  from  esteem ; 
since  all  could  never  hate  and  despise  him  whom  no  in- 
dividual hated,  and  who  manifestly  constrained  himself 
— as  far  as  was  within  his  power — to  benefit  all,  or  at 
least  the  majority. 

The  tragedy  of  The  First  Brutus,  among  the 
latest  of  those  of  Alfieri,  is  based  upon  the  well- 
known  Roman  legend.  The  action  of  the  drama 
takes  place  wholly  in  and  near  the  Forum  in  Rome, 
and  occupies  not  more  than  two  days.  The  first 
act  opens  with  Brutus  and  Collatinus,  the  husband 
of  Lucretia,  haranguing  the  citizens  in  the  Forum, 
and  inciting  them  to  rise  against  the  House  of 
Tarquin.  The  body  of  Lucretia  is  then  brought 
in,  and  the  act  thus  concludes: 

People.. — '  Atrocious  sight ! 

Behold  the  murdered  lady  in  the  Forum, 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI  305 

Brutus. — Yes,  Romans,  fix — if  ye  have  power  to  do 
it — 
Fix  on  that  immolated  form  your  eyes. 
That  mute,  fair  form,  that  horrible  generous  wound, 
That  pure  and  sacred  blood — Ah  !  all  exclaim, 
"  To-day  resolve  on  liberty,  or  we 
Are  doom'd  to  death.     Naught  else  remains  !  " 

People. —  All,  all, 

Yes,  free  we  all  of  us  will  be,  or  dead. 

Brutus. — Then    listen    now    to    Brutus. — The    same 
dagger 
Which  from  her  dying  side  he  lately  drew, 
Brutus  now  lifts  ;  and  to  all  Rome  he  swears 
That  which  first  on  her  very  dying  form 
He  swore  already. — While  I  wear  a  sword. 
While  vital  air  I  breathe,  in  Rome  henceforth 
No  Tarquin  e'er  shall  put  his  foot — I  swear  it ; 
Nor  the  abominable  name  of  king. 
Nor  the  authority,  shall  any  man 
Ever  again  possess. — May  the  just  gods 
Annihilate  him  here,  if  Brutus  is  not 
Lofty  and  true  of  heart  ! — Further  I  swear, 
Many  as  are  the  inhabitants  of  Rome, 
To  make  them  equal,  free,  and  citizens  ; 
Myself  a  citizen  and  nothing  more. 
The  laws  alone  shall  have  authority. 
And  I  will  be  the  first  to  yield  them  homage. 

People. — The  laws,  the  laws  alone  !    We  with  one  voice 
To  thine  our  oaths  unite.     And  be  a  fate 
Worse  than  the  fate  of  Collatinus  ours 
If  we  are  ever  perjured  ! 

Brutus. —  These,  these  are 

True  Roman  accents.     Tyranny  and  tyrants, 
At  your  accordant  hearty  will  alone, 
All,  all  have  vanished.     Nothing  now  is  needful 
Except  'gainst  them  to  close  the  city  gates  ; 
Since  Fate,  to  us  propitious,  has  already 
Sequestered  them  from  Rome. 

People. —  But  you  meanwhile 

Will  be  to  us  at  once  consuls  and  fathers. 
You  to  us  wisdom,  we  our  arms  to  you, 
Our  swords,  our  hearts,  will  lend. 
Vol.  I.-~2o 


3o6  riTTORJO  ALFIERI 

Brutus. —  In  your  august 

And  sacred  presence,  on  each  lofty  cause, 
We  always  will  deliberate.     There  cannot 
From  the  collective  people's  majesty 
Be  anything  concealed.     But  it  is  just 
That  the  patricians  and  the  Senate  bear 
A  part  in  everything.     At  the  new  tidings 
They  are  not  all  assembled  here.     Enough — • 
Alas,  too  much  so — the  iron  rod  of  power 
Has  smitten  them  with  terror.     Now  yourselves 
To  the  sublime  contention  of  great  deeds 
Shall  summon  them.     Here  then  we  will  unite, 
Patricians  and  plebeians  ;  and  by  us 
Freedom  a  stable  basis  shall  receive. 

People. — From  this  day  forth  we  shall  begin  to  live. 

In  the  next  three  acts  the  story  is  developed. 
Brutus  and  Collatinus  are  made  consuls.  Tarquin 
sends  a  message  to  the  Romans,  proposing  that 
his  guilty  son  shall  be  given  up  to  punishment  for 
his  crime.  A  number  of  the  patricians  form  a 
conspiracy  to  restore  the  Tarquins.  Among  these 
are  Titus  and  Tiberius,  the  sons  of  Brutus,  who 
are  led  to  believe  that  thus  only  can  the  life  of 
their  father  be  preserved.  The  plot  is  discovered, 
and  the  conspirators  are  apprehended.  The  fifth 
act  opens  in  the  Forum.  Collatinus  and  Brutus 
are  on  the  rostrum.  The  conspirators  are  led  in 
in  chains,  Titus  and  Tiberius  last. 

People. —  Ah  !  how  many, 

How  many  may  the  traitors  be  ? — Oh  heaven  ! 
Behold  the  sons  of  Brutus  ! 

Collatinus. —  Ah  !  I  cannot 

Longer  restrain  my  tears. 

Brutus. —  A  great  day, 

A  noble  day  is  this,  and  evermore 
Will  be  a  memorable  one  for  Rome. — 
Oh  ye,  perfidiously  base,  who  dared 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI  y^ 

Your  scarce-awakened  country  to  betray, 

Behold  ye  all  before  assembled  Rome. 

Let  each  of  you,  if  it  be  possible, 

Defend  himself  before  her. — All  are  silent. — 

Rome  and  the  Consuls  ask  of  you  yourselves, 

Whether  to  you,  convicted  criminals, 

The  punishment  of  death  be  due  ? 

\^All  are  silent. '\  To  death 

Then  all  of  you  are  equitably  sentenced. 
The  people's  majesty,  with  one  consent, 
Pronounces  the  irreversible  decree. 
Why  should  we  longer  tarry  ? — Oh  !  my  colleague 
Weeps  and  is  silent.     Silent  is  the  Senate  ; 
Silent  the  citizens. 

People. —  Oh  fatal  moment  ! — 

Yet  just  and  necessary  is  their  death. 

Titus. — One  innocent  alone  amongst  us  all, 
Now  dies,  and  this  is  he.     [Points  to  his  brother^ 

People. —  Oh  pity  !     See, 

He  of  his  brother  speaks. 

Tiberius. —  Believe  him  not : 

Or  we  are  both  equally  innocent. 
Or  equally  transgressors.     In  the  paper 
My  name  is  written  next  to  his. 

Brutus. —  No  one 

Whose  name  is  written  on  that  fatal  scroll 
Can  be  called  innocent.     Some  may,  perchance, 
Have  been  less  culpable  in  their  intent, 
But  only  to  the  gods  the  intent  is  known. 
And  it  would  be  an  arbitrary  judgment, 
And  thence  unjust,  the  guilty  to  absolve, 
As  to  condemn  them  from  the  inference 
Drawn  from  professed  intention.     It  would  be 
A  spurious  judgment,  such  as  kings  assume  ; 
Not  such  as  by  a  just  and  simple  people 
Is  held  in  reverence.     People  who  alone 
To  the  tremendous  sacred  laws  submit; 
And  who,  save  of  the  letter  of  those  laws. 
In  their  decrees,  of  naught  avail  themselves. 

Collatinus. — Romans,    'tis   true    that  these   unhappy 
youths 
Were  with  the  rest  of  the  conspirators 


3o8  VITTORIO  ALflERI 

Involved.     But  that  they  were  solicited, 

Confounded,  tampered  with,  and  finally. 

By  the  iniquitous  Mamilius 

In  an  inextricable  snare  entrapped, 

Is  also  as  indubitably  true. 

He  made  them  think  that  all  was  in  the  power 

Of  the  expelled  Tarquinii  ;  thence  their  names--' 

Would  you  believe  it — also  they  subscribed 

Only  to  save  their  sire  from  death. 

People. —  Oh  heaven  ! 

And  is  this  true  indeed  ?     We  then  should  save 
These  two  alone. 

Brutus. —  Alas  !  what  do  I  hear  ? — 

Is  this  the  people's  voice  ? — Just,  free,  and  strong, 
Ye  would  now  make  yourselves,  and  how  ?  would  ye 
Lay,  as  the  base  of  such  an  edifice, 
A  partial  application  of  your  laws  ? — 
That  I,  a  father,  might  not  weep,  would  ye 
Now  make  so  many  other  citizens. 
Sons,  brothers,  fathers,  weep  ? — To  the  keen  axe, 
Which  they  have  merited,  shall  now  so  many, 
So  many  others  yield  their  passive  necks, 
And  shall  two  culprits  only  be  exempt 
From  this,  because  they  seem  not  what  they  are  ? — 
They  were  the  Consul's  sons,  although  in  deeds 
They  were  not  so.     'Mong  the  conspirators 
With  their  own  hand  were  they  enrolled. — Or  all 
Or  none  of  them  should  die. — Absolve  them  all, 
And  at  once  ruin  Rome.     Save  two  alone, 
And  if  it  seem  so,  it  would  be  unjust — . 
Now,  less  a  just  than  a  compassionate  judge, 
Hath  CoUatinus  these  two  youths  defended, 
Asserting  that  they  wished  to  save  their  father. — 
Perhaps  this  was  true ;  but  perhaps  the  others  wished, 
Their  fathers  some,  their  brothers  some,  and  some 
Their  sons  to  save ;  and  not  on  this  account 
Are  they  less  guilty ;  since  they  rather  chose 
To  sacrifice  their  country  than  their  friends. — 
The  father  in  his  heart  may  weep  for  this ; 
But  in  the  first  place  should  the  genuine  Consul 
Secure  the  safety  of  his  native  country ; 
And  afterward,  by  mighty  grief  o'erwhelmed, 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI  305 

Fall  on  the  bodies  of  his  lifeless  sons. — 
Ye  will  behold,  ere  many  hours  are  past, 
To  what  excess  of  danger,  by  these  men, 
Ye  have  been  brought.     To  fortify  our  hearts 
In  strength  imparted  by  the  strength  of  others, 
In  individual  strength  to  make  us  strong, 
Inflexible  as  champions  of  freedom. 
Cruel,  though  just,  'tis  indispensable 
That  we  abide  this  memorable  test. — 
Depart,  oh  lictors ;  be  the  culprits  all 
Bound  to  the  columns ;  let  the  hatchet  fall 
Upon  them. — I  have  not  a  heart  of  steel.-— 
Ah  !  Collatinus,  this  is  the  time  for  thee 
To  pity  me  :  perform  for  me  the  rest, 

[Brutus  sinks  on  his  seat,  and  turns  aiuay  his  eyes  from 
the  spectacle.  Collatinus  sees  the  conspirators  bound 
to  the  columns.'] 

People. — Oh  cruel  sight ! — The  wretched  father  dares 
Not  look  at  them. — And  yet  their  death  is  just. 

Brutus. — The    punishment   approaches.     The   delin- 
quents 
Have  heard  the  sentence  of  the  Consuls. — Now 
Think  on  the  pangs  of  the  distracted  father. — 
The  cleaving  hatchet  o'er  each  neck  impends. — 
Oh  heaven  !  my  very  heart  is  rent  in  twain ! — 
I  with  my  mantle  am  constrained  to  hide 
The  insufferable  sight ! — This  may  at  least 
Be  granted  to  the  father. — 
But  ye,  fix  ye  on  them  your  eyes. — Now  Rome, 
Free  and  eternal,  rises  from  that  blood. 

Collatinus. — Oh  superhuman  strength  ! 

Valerius. —  Of  Rome  is  Brutus 

The  Father  and  the  God. 

People. —  Yes,  Brutus  is 

The  Father  and  the  God  of  Rome. 

Brutus. —  I  am 

The  most  unhappy  man  that  ever  lived. 

[The  curtain  falls  while  the  lictors  stand  ready  to  strike 
the  blo7v.\ 

"  Alfieri  has  united  the  beauties  of  art,  unity, 
singleness  of  subject,  and  probability,  the  proper- 


31© 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI 


ties  of  the  French  drama,  to  the  sublimity  of 
situation  and  character  and  the  important 
events  of  the  Greek  theatre,  and  to  the  profound 
thought  and  sentiment  of  the  English  stage."-— 
Sismondi, 


ALFONSO  II.,  King  of  Castile,  flourished  dur- 
ing the  latter  half  of  the  twelfth  century,  succeed- 
ing to  the  crown  in  1163,  and  died  in  1196.  His 
court  was  famous  for  the  troubadours,  who  were 
drawn  thither  by  the  monarch's  patronage  of  their 
art.  The  king  is  remembered  for  one  pretty 
song; 

PARTING    AND   MEETING. 

Many  the  joys  my  heart  has  seen, 

From  various  sources  flowing  : 
From  gardens  gay  and  meadows  green, 

From  leaves  and  flowerets  blowing, 

And  spring  her  freshening  hours  bestowing. 
All  these  delight  the  bard ;  but  here 
Their  power  to  sadden  or  to  cheer 
In  this  my  song  will  not  appear. 

Where  naught  but  love  is  glowing. 

When  I  remember  our  farewell, 

As  from  her  side  I  parted. 
Sorrow  and  joy  alternate  swell, 

To  think  how,  broken-hearted, 

While  from  her  eyelids  tear-drops  started, 
"  Oh,  soon,"  she  said,  "  my  loved  one,  here, 
Oh,  soon,  in  pity  re-appear  !  " 
Then  back  I'll  fly,  for  none  so  dear 

As  her  from  whom  I  parted. 

•^Translation  cf  Taylor. 


fan) 


ALFONSO  X.,  King  of  Leon  and  Castile,  born 
in  I22I,  ascended  the  throne  in  1252,  was  deposed 
by  his  son,  Sancho,  in  1282,  and  died  in  1284.  His 
acquaintance  with  geometry,  astronomy,  and  the 
occult  sciences  of  his  time  gained  for  him  the  ap- 
pellation of  el  Sabio,  "  the  Learned."  The  works 
in  prose  attributed  to  him  range  over  a  great  va- 
riety of  subjects,  historical,  scientific,  and  legal, 
although  many  of  them  were  merely  written  or 
compiled  by  his  order.  He  caused  the  Bible  to 
be  translated  into  Castilian,  and  thereby  per- 
formed for  the  Spanish  language  a  service  very 
similar  to  that  performed  for  the  English  by 
James  L  Mariana  says  of  him  :  "  He  was  more 
fit  for  letters  than  for  the  government  of  his  sub- 
jects ;  he  studied  the  heavens  and  watched  the 
stars,  but  forgot  the  earth  and  lost  his  kingdom." 
The  following  letter,  written  in  1282,  just  at  the 
time  of  his  troubles  with  his  son,  is  said  by  Mr. 
Ticknor  to  be  "  a  favorable  specimen  of  Castilian 
prose  at  a  period  so  early  in  the  history  of  the 
language :  " 

LETTER  TO  DON  ALONZO  PEREZ  DE  GUZMAN. 

My  aflRiction  is  great,  because  it  has  fallen  from  such 
a  height  that  it  will  be  seen  from  afar  ;  and  as  it  has 
fallen  on  me  who  was  the  friend  of  all  the  world,  so  in 
all  the  world  will  men  know  this  my  misfortune,  and  its 
sharpness,  which  J  guffer  unjustly  from  my  son,  assisted 

(3«j 


ALFONSO  X  313 

by  my  friends  and  my  prelates,  who,  instead  of  setting 
peace  between  us  have  put  mischief,  not  under  secret 
pretences  or  covertly,  but  with  bold  openness.  And 
thus  I  find  no  protection  in  mine  own  land — neither  de- 
fender nor  champion  ;  and  yet  have  I  not  deserved  it  at 
their  hands,  unless  it  were  for  the  good  I  have  done 
them. 

And  now,  since  in  mine  own  land  they  deceive,  who 
should  have  served  and  assisted  me,  needful  is  it  that 
I  should  seek  abroad  those  who  will  kindly  care  for  me  ; 
and  since  they  of  Castile  have  been  false  to  me,  none 
can  think  it  ill  that  I  seek  help  among  those  of  Bena- 
marin.*  For  if  my  sons  are  mine  enemies,  it  will  not 
be  wrong  that  I  take  mine  enemies  to  be  my  sons  ;  en- 
emies according  to  the  law,  but  not  of  free  choice.  And 
such  is  the  good  King  Aben  Jusaf ;  for  I  love  and  value 
him  much,  and  he  will  not  despise  me  or  fail  me ;  for 
we  are  at  truce.  I  know  also  how  much  you  are  his, 
and  how  much  he  loves  you,  and  with  good  cause  ;  and 
how  much  he  will  do  through  your  good  counsel. 
Therefore  look  not  at  the  things  past,  but  at  the  things 
present.  Consider  of  what  lineage  you  are  come,  and 
that  at  some  time  hereafter  I  may  do  you  good  ;  and 
that  if  I  do  it  not,  that  your  own  good  deed  shall  be  its 
own  good  reward. 

Therefore  my  cousin,  Alonzo  Perez  de  Guzman,  do 
so  much  for  me  with  my  lord  and  your  friend  that,  on 
the  pledge  of  the  most  precious  crown  that  I  have,  and 
the  jewels  thereof,  he  should  lend  me  so  much  as  he 
may  hold  to  be  just.  And  if  you  can  obtain  his  aid,  let 
it  not  be  hindered  of  coming  quickly  ;  but  rather  think 
how  the  good  friendship  that  may  come  to  me  from 
your  lord  will  be  through  your  hands.  And  so  may 
God's  friendship  be  with  you. 

Done  in  Seville,  my  only  loyal  city,  in  the  thirtieth 
year  of  my  reign,  and  in  the  first  of  these  my  Troubles. 

THE   KING. 
—^Translation  of  Ticknor. 

*  A  race  of  African  princes  who  ruled  in  Morocco,  and  subjected 
all  Western  Africa- 


514  ALFONSO  X. 

The  noblest  monument  which  Alfonso  X.  reared 
to  himself  was  a  code  of  Spanish  Common  Law, 
designated  Las  Siete  Partidas,  "  The  Seven  Parts," 
from  the  number  of  divisions  in  the  work.  Sixty 
years  after  the  death  of  Alfonso,  this  code  was 
proclaimed  as  of  binding  authority  in  all  the  ter- 
ritories held  by  the  kings  of  Castile  and  Leon, 
and  has  been  the  basis  of  Spanish  jurisprudence 
ever  since.  "  The  Partidas"  says  Mr.  Ticknor, 
"  read  very  little  like  a  collection  of  statutes,  or 
even  like  a  code,  such  as  that  of  Justinian  or  Na- 
poleon. .  .  .  They  are  a  kind  of  digested  result 
of  the  opinions  and  reading  of  a  learned  monarch 
and  his  coadjutors  in  the  thirteenth  century,  on 
the  relative  duties  of  a  king  and  his  subjects,  or 
the  entire  legislation  and  police,  ecclesiastical, 
civil,  and  moral,  to  which,  in  their  judgment, 
Spain  should  be  subjected ;  the  whole  inter- 
spersed with  discussions  concerning  the  customs 
and  principles  on  which  the  work  itself,  or  some 
particular  part  of  it,  is  founded," 

UPON   TYRANTS  AND   THEIR   WAYS. 

A  tyrant  doth  signify  a  cruel  lord  who  by  force  or  by 
craft  or  by  treachery,  hath  obtained  power  over  any 
realm  or  country  ;  and  such  men  be  of  such  nature 
that,  when  once  they  have  grown  strong  in  the  land, 
they  love  to  work  their  own  profit,  though  it  be  in  the 
harm  of  the  land,  rather  than  the  common  profit  of  all ; 
for  they  always  live  in  an  ill  fear  of  losing  it.  And  that 
they  may  be  able  to  fulfil  this  their  purpose  unencum- 
bered, the  wise  of  old  have  said  that  they  use  their 
power  against  the  people  in  three  manners  : 

The  first  is,  that  they  strive  that  those  under  their 
mastery  be  ever  ignorant  and  timorous  ;  because  when 
they  be  such,  they  may  not  be  bold  to  rise  against 


ALFONSO  X.  315 

them,  nor  to  resist  their  wills.  The  second  is,  that  the 
people  be  not  kindly  and  united  among  themselves,  in 
such  wise  that  they  trust  not  one  another ;  for,  while 
they  live  in  disagreement,  they  shall  not  dare  to  make 
any  discourse  against  their  lord,  for  fear  faith  and 
secrecy  should  not  be  kept  among  themselves.  And 
the  third  way  is,  that  they  strive  to  make  the  people 
poor  and  to  put  them  upon  great  undertakings,  which 
they  can  never  finish ;  whereby  they  may  have  so  much 
harm,  that  it  may  never  come  into  their  hearts  to  de- 
vise anything  against  their  ruler.  And  above  all  this, 
have  tyrants  ever  striven  to  make  spoil  of  the  strong 
and  to  destroy  the  wise  ;  and  have  forbidden  fellowship 
and  assemblies  of  men  in  their  land,  and  striven  always 
to  know  what  men  said  or  did  ;  and  to  trust  their  coun- 
sel and  the  guard  of  their  persons  rather  to  foreigners, 
who  will  serve  at  their  will,  than  to  men  of  the  land, 
who  serve  from  oppression. 

And,  moreover,  we  say  that,  though  any  man  may 
have  gained  mastery  of  a  kingdom  by  any  one  of  the 
lawful  means  whereof  we  have  spoken  in  the  laws  going 
before  this,  yet,  if  he  use  his  power  ill,  in  the  ways 
whereof  we  speak  in  this  law,  him  may  the  people  still 
call  tyrant ;  for  he  turneth  his  mastery,  which  was  right- 
ful, into  the  wrongful,  as  Aristotle  hath  said  in  the  book 
in  which  he  treateth  of  the  rule  and  government  of 
kingdoms. — Partida  II.,  Tit.  /.,  Translation  of  Ticknor. 

THE    EDUCATION   OF   PRINCESSES. 

The  governesses  are  to  endeavor,  as  much  as  may  be, 
that  the  king's  daughters  be  moderate  and  seemly  in 
eating  and  in  drinking,  and  also  in  their  carriage  and 
dress,  and  of  good  manners  in  all  things ;  and  especially 
that  they  be  not  given  to  anger ;  for  besides  the  wick- 
edness that  lieth  in  it,  it  is  the  thing  in  the  world  that 
most  easily  leadeth  women  to  do  ill.  And  they  ought 
to  teach  them  to  be  handy  in  performing  those  works 
that  belong  to  noble  ladies ;  for  this  is  a  matter  that 
becometh  them  much,  since  they  obtain  by  it  cheerful- 
ness and  a  quiet  spirit ;  and  besides,  it  taketh  away  bad 
thoughts,  which  it  is  not  convenient  they  should  have. 
'•^Partida  I  J.,  Tit.  VII.,  Translation  of  Ticknor. 


3i6  ALFONSO  X. 

Of  the  poetry  of  Alfonso  X.,  says  Mr.  Ticknor, 
"  We  possess,  besides  works  of  very  doubtful  gen- 
uineness, two,  about  one  of  which  there  has  been 
little  question,  about  the  other  none.  Of  his  Cdn- 
tigas,  or  '  Chants  '  in  honor  of  the  Madonna,  there 
are  extant  no  less  than  four  hundred  and  one ;  and 
by  his  last  will  he  directed  these  poems  be  per- 
petually chanted  in  the  church  of  St.  Mary  of 
Murcia,  where  he  desired  his  body  might  be 
Duried.  Only  a  few  of  them  have  been  printed. 
.  .  .  Del  Tcsoro,  '  The  Treasury,'  is  a  treatise  on 
the  philosopher's  stone,  and  the  greater  portion  of 
it  is  concealed  in  an  unexplained  cipher  ;  the  re- 
mainder, being  partly  in  prose  and  partly  in  oc- 
tave stanzas,  which  are  the  oldest  extant  in  Cas- 
tilian  verse  ;  but  the  whole  is  worthless  and  its 
genuineness  doubtful:" — an  opinion  from  which 
we  dissent. 

THE    philosopher's   STONE. 

Fame  brought  this  strange  intelhgence  to  me, 
That  in  Egyptian  lands  there  hved  a  sage, 
Who  read  the  secrets  of  the  coming  age, 

And  could  anticipate  futurity  ; 

He  judged  the  stars,  and  all  their  aspects  ;  he 
The  darksome  veil  of  hidden  things  withdrew, 
Of  unborn  days  the  mysteries  he  knew, 

And  saw  the  future  as  the  past  we  see.     .     .     . 

He  made  the  magic  stone,  and  taught  me  too  : 
We  toiled  together  first ;  but  soon  alone 
I  formed  the  marvellous  gold-creating  stone, 

And  oft  did  I  my  lessening  wealth  renew. 

Varied  the  form  and  fabric,  and  not  few 
This  treasure's  elements,  the  simplest,  best, 
And  noblest,  here  ingenuously  confessed, 

I  shall  disclose,  in  this  my  verse  to  you. 


ALFONSO  X.  317 

And  what  a  list  of  nations  have  pursued 

This  treasure.     Need  I  speak  of  the  Chaldee, 
Or  the  untired  sons  of  learned  Araby  ; 

All,  all,  in  chase  of  this  most  envied  good  ? — 

Egypt  and  Syria,  and  the  tribes  so  rude 
Of  the  Orient,  Saracens  and  Medians,  all 
Laboring  in  vain,  though  oft  the  echoes  fall 

Upon  the  West,  of  their  song's  amplitude  ? 

If  what  is  passing  now  I  have  foretold 

In  honest  truth  and  calm  sincerity. 

So  will  I  tell  you  of  the  events  to  be 
Without  deception  ;  and  the  prize  I  hold 
Shall  be  in  literary  lore  enrolled. 

Such  power,  such  empire  never  can  be  won 

By  ignorance  or  listlessness  ;  to  none 
But  to  the  learned  state  my  truths  be  told. 

So,  like  the  Theban  Sphinx,  will  I  propound 
My  mysteries,  and  in  riddles  truth  will  speak. 
Deem  them  not  idle  words  ;  for  if  you  seek. 

Through  their  dense  darkness,  light  may  oft  be  found 

Muse,  meditate,  and  look  in  silence  round  ; 
Hold  no  communion  of  vain  language  ;  learn 
And  treasure  up  the  lore — if  you  discern 

What's  here  in  hieroglyphic  letters  bound. 

My  soul  hath  spoken  and  foretold  ;'I  bring 

The  voices  of  the  stars  to  chime  with  mine : 
.  He  who  shall  share  with  me  this  gift  divine, 

Shall  share  with  me  the  privilege  of  a  king. 

Mine  is  no  mean,  no  paltry  offering  ; 
Cupidity  itself  must  be  content 
With  such  a  portion  as  I  here  present ; 

And  Midas's  wealth  to  ours  a  trifling  thing. 

So  when  our  work  in  this  our  sphere  was  done, 
Deucalion  towered  sublimely  o'er  the  rest ; 
And  proudly  dominant  he  stood  confessed 

On  the  tenth  mountain  ;  thence  looked  kindly  on 


31 8  ALFONSO  X. 

The  Sovereign  Sire,  who  offered  him  a  crown, 
Or  empires  vast,  for  his  reward  ;  or  gold, 
From  his  vast  treasure,  for  his  heirs,  untold : 

So  bold  and  resolute  was  Deucalion, 

I'll  give  you  honest  counsel,  if  you  be 
My  kinsman  or  my  countryman  :  If  e'er 
His  gift  be  yours,  its  treasury  all  confer 

On  him  who  shall  unveil  the  mystery  ; 

Offer  him  all  and  offer  cheerfully, 

And  offer  most  sincerely.     Weak  and  small 
To  your  best  offering,  though  you  offer  all. 

Your  recompense  may  be  eternity. 

— From  Del  Tesoro^  Translation  Anon, 


ALFORD.  Henry,  D.D.,  an  English  divine, 
biblical  scholar,  and  poet,  born  in  London,  Octo- 
ber 10,  1810;  died  January  12,  1871.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge  ;  took  orders, 
and  was  made  Vicar  of  Wymeswold,  in  Leicester- 
shire. In  1853  he  took  up  his  residence  in  Lon- 
don, becoming  preacher  at  the  Quebec  Street 
Chapel,  where  he  acquired  much  celebrity  as  a 
preacher,  and  was  for  several  years  before  and 
after  Examiner  in  Logic  and  Moral  Philosophy  in 
the  Universit}''  of  London.  He  had  already,  in 
1841,  delivered  a  masterly  course  of  the.  Hulsean 
Lectures  at  Cambridge,  and  in  the  same  year  pub- 
lished his  scholarly  Chapters  on  the  Greek  Poets.  la 
1857  he  was  made  Dean  of  Canterbury.  He  be- 
gan his  literary  career  in  1S31  by  the  publication 
of  a  little  volume  oi  Poetieal  Fragments,  which  was 
followed  in  1835  by  The  School  of  the  Heart  and 
other  Poems.  From  time  to  time  he  put  forth  many 
poems,  notable  among  which  were  a  series  of 
Hymns  for  various  seasons  of  the  Christian  year, 
which  hold  a  high  place  in  modern  hymnology. 
About  1852  he  made  for  an  American  publisher  a 
complete  collection  of  his  poetical  works,  which 
was  dedicated  to  Longfellow.  After  that  he  wrote 
little  poetry,  the  current  of  his  thought  being 
turned  in  other  directions,  especially  toward  bib- 

(319) 


320  HEXRY  ALFOKD 

lical  criticism.     By  way  of  prologue  to  his  col- 
lected poems  he  prefixed  the  following: 

PROLOGUE  TO  COLLECTED  POEMS. 

Not  war,  nor  hurrying  troops  from  plain  to  plain, 

Nor  deeds  of  high  resolve,  nor  stern  command, 
Sing  I.     The  brow  that  carries  trace  of  pain 

Long  and  enough  the  sons  of  Song  have  scanned : 
Nor  lady's  love  in  honeysuckle  bower, 

With  helmet  hanging  high,  in  stolen  ease: 
Poets  enough,  I  deemed,  of  heavenly  power 

Ere  now  had  lavished  upon  themes  like  these.— 
My  harp  and  I  have  sought  a  holier  meed. 

The  fragments  of  God's  image  to  restore, 
The  earnest  longings  of  the  soul  to  feed, 

And  balm  into  the  spirit's  wounds  to  pour. 
One  gentle  voice  hath  bid  our  task  God-speed 

And  now  we  search  the  world  to  hear  of  more. 

EPILOGUE   TO   "  THE   SCHOOL   OF   THE    HEART." 

Thus  far  in  golden  dreams  of  youth  I  sung 
Of  Love  and  Beauty — Beauty  not  the  child 
Of  change,  nor  Love  the  growth  of  fierce  desire, 
But  calm  and  blessed  both — the  heritage 
Of  purest  spirits,  sprung  from  trust  in  God. 
Further  to  pierce  the  veil  asks  riper  strength, 
And  for  men  resting  on  conclusions  fixed 
By  patient  labor,  wrought  in  manly  years. 
Here  rest  we  then  :  our  message  thus  declared, 
Leave  the  full  echoes  of  our  harp  to  ebb 
Back  from  the  sated  ear:  teaching  meanwhile 
Our  thoughts  to  meditate  new  melodies, 
Our  hands  to  touch  the  strings  with  safer  skill. 

HYMN    FOR   SAINT    ANDREW'S   DAY, 

Of  all  the  honors  man  may  wear, 
Of  all  his  titles  proudly  stored, 

No  lowly  palm  his  name  shall  bear, 
"The  first  to  follow  Christ  the  Lord-*' 


HENRY  ALFORD  321 

Such  name  thou  hast,  who  didst  incline, 
Fired  with  the  great  Forerunner's  joy. 

Homeward  to  track  the  steps  divine, 
And  watch  the  Saviour's  blest  employ. 

Lord,  give  to  us,  Thy  servants,  grace 
To  hear  whene'er  thy  preachers  speak. 

When  Thou  commandest,  Seek  My  face. 
Thy  face  in  earnest  hope  to  seek. 

Mr.  Alford  put  forth  several  volumes  of  Ser- 
mons  delivered  at  the  Quebec  Street  Chapel,  and 
in  1865  a  small  volume  of  Meditations  on  tJie  Advent, 
From  these  we  present  some  extracts. 

A    CHRISTIAN    HOUSEHOLD. 

The  household  is  not  an  accident  of  nature,  but  an 
ordinance  of  God.  Even  nature's  processes,  could  we 
penetrate  their  secrets,  figure  forth  spiritual  truths ; 
and  her  brightest  and  noblest  arrangements  are  but  the 
representatives  of  the  most  glorious  of  those  truths. 
The  very  state  out  of  which  the  household  springs  is 
one — as  Scripture  and  the  Church  declare  to  us — not  to 
be  taken  in  hand  unadvisedly,  lightly,  or  wantonly,  see- 
ing that  it  sets  forth  and  represents  to  us  the  relation 
between  Christ  and  His  Church.  The  household  is  a 
representation,  on  a  small  scale  as  regards  numbers,  but 
not  as  regards  the  interests  concerned,  of  the  great 
family  in  heaven  and  earth.  Its  whole  relations  and 
mutual  duties  are  but  reflections  of  those  which  subsist 
between  the  Redeemer  and  the  people  for  whom  He 
hath  given  Himself. 

The  household,  then,  is  not  an  institution  whose 
duties  spring  from  beneath — from  the  necessities  of 
circumstances  merely ;  but  is  an  appointment  of  God, 
whose  laws  are  His  laws,  and  whose  members  owe 
direct  account  to  Him.  The  father  of  a  household 
stands  most  immediately  in  God's  place.  His  is  the 
post  of  greatest  responsibility,  of  greatest  influence  for 
good  or  evil.  His  it  is — in  the  last  resort — to  fix  and 
Vol.  I.— 21 


322  HEXRY  ALFORD 

determine  the  character  which  his  household  shall  bear. 
According  as  he  is  good  or  bad,  godly  or  ungodly,  self- 
ish or  self-denying,  so  will,  for  the  most  part,  the  com- 
plexion of  the  household  be  also.  As  he  values  that 
which  is  good — not  in  his  professions,  for  which  no  one 
cares,  but  in  his  practice  which  all  men  observe — so 
will  it  most  likely  be  valued  also  by  his  family  as  they 
grow  up  and  are  planted  out  in  the  world. 

Of  all  the  influences  which  can  be  brought  to  bear  on 
man,  paternal  influence  may  be  made  the  strongest  and 
most  salutary ;  and  whether  so  made  or  not,  is  ever  of 
immense  weight  in  one  way  or  the  other.  For,  remem- 
ber, that  paternal  influence  is  not  that  which  the  father 
tries  to  exert  merely,  but  that  which,  in  matter  of  fact, 
he  does  exert.  That  superior  life,  ever  moving  in  ad- 
vance of  the  young  and  observing  and  imitative  life  of 
all  of  us — that  source  from  which  all  our  first  ideas 
came — that  voice  which  sounded  deeper  into  our  hearts 
than  all  other  voices,  day  by  day,  year  by  year,  through 
all  our  plastic  childhood — will  all  through  life,  almost  in 
spite  of  ourselves,  still  keep  in  advance  of  us,  still  con- 
tinue to  sound.  No  other  example  will  ever  take  so 
firm  hold,  no  other  superiority  be  ever  so  vividly  and 
constantly  felt. 

And  again  remember,  this  example  goes  for  what  it  is 
really  worth.  Words  do  not  set  it;  religious  phrases  do 
not  give  it  its  life  and  power.  It  is  not  a  thing  of  dis- 
play and  effort,  but  of  inner  realities,  and  recurring  acts 
and  habits.  It  is  not  the  raving  of  the  wind  around  the 
precipice — not  the  sunrise  and  sunset,  clothing  it  with 
golden  glory — which  moulded  it,  and  gave  it  its  worn 
and  rounded  form ;  but  the  unmarked  dropping  of  the 
silent  waters,  the  melting  of  the  yearly  snows,  the  gush- 
ing of  the  inner  springs.  And  so  it  will  be,  not  what 
the  outward  eye  sees  in  him,  not  that  which  men  repute 
him,  not  public  praise  nor  public  blame,  that  will  en- 
hance or  undo  a  father's  influence  in  his  household  ;  but 
that  which  he  really  is  in  the  hearts  of  his  family  ;  that 
which  they  know  of  him  in  private  ;  the  worth  to  which 
they  can  testify,  but  which  the  outer  world  never  saw , 
the  affections  which  flow  in  secret,  of  which  they  know 
the  depth,  but  others  only  the  surface. 


HENRY  ALFORD  323 

And  so  it  will  be  with  a  father's  religion.  None  so 
keen  to  see  into  a  man's  religion  as  his  own  household. 
He  may  deceive  others;  he  may  deceive  himself;  he 
can  hardly  long  succeed  in  deceiving  them.  If  religion 
with  him  be  a  mere  thing  put  on — an  elaborate  series  of 
outward  duties,  attended  to  for  expediency's  sake- 
something  befitting  his  children,  but  not  equally  fitting 
him  :  oh,  none  will  so  soon  and  so  thoroughly  learn  to 
appreciate  this,  as  those  children  themselves.  There  is 
not  any  fact  which,  when  discovered,  will  have  so  bane- 
ful an  effect  on  their  young  lives  as  such  an  apprecia- 
tion. No  amount  of  external  devotion  will  ever  coun- 
terbalance it,  no  use  of  religious  phraseology,  nor  con- 
verse with  religious  people  without.  But  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  religion  is  really  a  thing  in  his  heart — 
if  he  moves  about  day  by  day  as  seeing  One  invisible — 
if  the  love  of  Christ  is  really  warming  the  springs  of 
his  inner  life — then,  however  inadequately  this  is  shown 
in  matter  or  in  manner,  it  will  be  sure  to  be  known  and 
thoroughly  appreciated  by  those  who  are  ever  living 
their  lives  around  him. — Sermons  at  Quebec  Chapel. 

ON   PROVIDENCE. 

And  here  again,  passing  from  the  mere  general  con- 
sideration of  belief  in  an  overruling  God  to  our  be- 
lief in  a  God  and  Father  of  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
we  shall  find  our  grounds  of  comfort  immensely  strength- 
ened, and  our  vision  exceedingly  cleared.  During  this 
present  time,  our  ascended  and  glorified  Saviour  is  wait- 
ing till  all  things  are  put  under  His  feet.  The  whole 
moral  world  is  by  degrees  being  subdued  to  Him.  By 
various  dispensations  of  God's  providence  the  good  is 
prevailing,  the  evil  is  being  defeated  and  put  out.  Now, 
if  ever,  is  it  true  that  the  good  man  is  God's  especial 
care,  and  that  all  scope  is  given  for  all  the  best  and 
highest  graces  of  humanity  to  expand  and  flourish.  The 
perfect  pattern  of  the  Redeemer  is  before  us ;  the  wit- 
nessing Spirit  is  within  us  ;  the  many  mansions  are 
being  prepared  for  us  by  Him  who  will  return  to  take 
us  thither.  He  that  will  love  life  and  see  good  days, 
is  not  dependent  on  promises   of  earthly  prosperity. 


324  HENRY  ALFORD 

His  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God  ;  his  good  day  asre  to 
come  in  that  place  whither  his  Saviour  Christ  has  gone 
before  him. 

What  a  comfort  it  is  for  us  to  feel,  in  the  midst  of 
dark  and  perplexing  circumstances,  that  the  mighty  and 
all-wise  Being  who  is  overruling  all  things  for  His  glory, 
and  bringing  good  out  of  man's  evil,  is  our  own  God  ; 
that  His  covenanted  mercies  are  ours  ;  that  in  Christ 
Jesus  all  His  promises  are  forever  ratified  to  each  one, 
even  the  least  and  most  helpless  among  us.  What  a 
powerful  motive  does  it  furnish  to  all  good,  what  a  dis- 
couragement to  all  evil,  to  remember  that  we  have  now 
no  more  general  assurance  that  God  is  on  the  side  of 
good,  but  a  positive  promise  that  all  power  in  heaven 
and  earth  is  given  to  him  who  laid  down  His  life  for  the 
truth  ;  and  that  one  day  all  who  have  followed  Him  in 
the  paths  of  truth  and  holiness  shall  be  like  Him — par- 
takers in  His  victory — changed  into  His  spotless  pu- 
rity— inheritors  of  the  new  heaven  and  earth  wherein 
dwelleth  righteousness  ;  which  he  hath  purchased  for 
them,  and  wherein  they  shall  reign  with  Him,  when 
truth  shall  finally  have  been  established,  and  all  evil  shall 
forever  have  been  put  down. — Meditations  on  the  Advent. 

Dean  Alford,  as  he  was  generally  designated 
during  the  later  years  of  his  life,  was  a  frequent 
contributor  to  current  literature.  One  of  his 
latest  productions  was  a  very  clever  Plea  for  the 
Queen  s  English.  But  apart  from  his  work  as  a 
preacher  the  most  important  work  of  his  life  was 
his  critical  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament,  of  which 
the  first  volume  appeared  in  1844,  the  second  in 
1852,  the  third  and  fourth  in  1855-57.  This  edi- 
tion is  in  many  respects — especially  for  its  almost 
exhaustive  collection  of  the  various  readings 
found  in  the  extant  manuscripts  —  perhaps  the 
most  valuable  edition  ever  put  forth. 


ALFRED  The  Great,  King  of  England,  born 
at  Wantage,  849 ;  died  October  28,  901.  He  suc- 
ceeded to  the  crown,  upon  the  death  of  his  father, 
Ethelwulf,  in  872,  but  was  for  a  time  driven  from 
the  throne  by  the  Danes,  who  overran  the  king- 
dom of  the  West  Saxons.  But  after  many  ad- 
ventures and  some  severe  reverses,  he  completely 
routed  the  invaders  in  879,  and  firmly  established 
his  sway.  In  891  there  was  another  furious  in- 
vasion of  the  Northmen,  who  gave  much  trouble 
during  most  of  the  remaining  years  of  his  reign. 
Alfred  was,  says  the  Saxon  chronicler  Ethelwerd, 
"the  immovable  pillar  of  the  Western  Saxons; 
full  of  justice,  bold  in  arms,  learned  in  speech, 
and  above  all  things  imbued  with  the  divine  in- 
structions; for  he  translated  into  his  own  lan- 
guage, out  of  Latin,  unnumbered  volumes,  of  so 
varied  a  nature  and  so  excellently,  that  the  sor- 
rowful book  of  Boethius  seemed  not  only  to  the 
learned  but  even  to  those  who  heard  it  read,  as 
if  it  were  brought  to  life  again." 

In  1849  ^  great  public  meeting  was  held  at  the 
town  of  Wantage,  in  Berkshire,  the  place  of  his 
birth,  to  celebrate  the  one  thousandth  year  since 
the  birth  of  Alfred ;  it  was  then  resolved  that  "a 
Jubilee  Edition  of  the  works  of  King  Alfred  the 
Great  should  be  immediately  undertaken,  to  be 
edited  by  the  most  competent  Anglo-Saxon  schol- 

(325) 


326  ALFRED   THE   GREAT 

ars  who  might  be  willing  to  combine  for  the  pur- 
pose." The  work  was  completed  not  long  after, 
in  two  large  volumes,  and  was  dedicated  to 
Queen  Victoria,  who  traces  her  descent  to  Alfred. 
In  the  preface  the  editor,  the  Rev.  J.  A.  Giles, 
says:  "These  works  extend  to  almost  every 
kind  of  learning  then  known,  or,  rather,  they 
reach  even  beyond  the  utmost  excellence  of  all 
contemporary  learning.  They  comprise  Poetry, 
History,  Geography,  Moral  Philosophy,  and 
Legislation  ;  and  they  form,  in  fact,  the  most  valu- 
able portion  of  Anglo-Saxon  Literature.  It  is  no 
disparagement  to  these  writings  that  they  are 
mostly  paraphrases  of  ancient  Latin  authors. 
This  was  the  necessary  result  of  the  ignorance  in 
which  the  whole  English  nation  were  then  sunk." 
Alfred  the  Great  is  one  out  of  not  more  than 
half  a  dozen  kings  who  deserve  a  place  among 
authors.  Indeed  it  would  be  hard  to  name  more 
than  these  three  or  four:  David  (and  perhaps 
Solomon)  of  Israel,  Alfred  of  England,  and  Fred- 
erick the  Great  of  Prussia.  King  Alfred  set  forth 
the  principles  which  guided  him  in  the  work 
which  he  undertook  and  performed  in  this  direc- 
tion.    He  of  course  writes  in  Anglo-Saxon : 

Alfred's  plans. 

Covetousness  and  the  possession  of  this  earthly 
power  I  did  not  well  like,  nor  strongly  desired  at  all 
this  earthly  kingdom  ;  but  I  desired  materials  for  the 
work  that  I  was  commanded  to  do.  This  was  that  I 
might  unfractiously  and  becomingly  steer  and  rule  the 
power  committed  to  me.  For  no  man  may  show  any 
craft  or  rule,  nor  steer  any  power  without  tools  or  ma- 


ALFRED   THE    GREAT  327 

terials.  .  .  .  These  are  the  materials  of  a  King's  work, 
and  his  tools  to  govern  with  :  That  he  may  have  his 
land  fully  peopled  ;  that  he  should  have  his  prayer-men, 
and  army-men,  and  work-men.  Without  these  tools  no 
king  may  show  his  skill.     .     .     . 

It  often  occurs  to  my  mind  to  consider  what  manner 
Df  wise  men  there  formerly  were  in  the  English  nation, 
both  spiritual  and  temporal  ;  and  how  the  kings  who 
then  had  the  government  of  the  people  obeyed  God 
and  his  written  will  ;  how  well  they  behaved  both  in 
(var  and  peace,  and  in  their  domestic  government ;  and 
how  they  prospered  in  knowledge  and  religioa. 

I  considered  also  how  earnest  God's  ministers  then 
were,  as  well  about  preaching  as  about  learning;  and 
how  men  came  from  foreign  countries  to  seek  wisdom 
and  doctrine  in  this  land  ;  and  how  we  who  live  in 
these  times  are  now  obliged  to  go  abroad  to  get  them. 
To  so  low  a  depth  has  learning  fallen  among  the  Eng- 
lish nation,  that  there  have  been  very  few  on  this  side 
of  the  Humber  who  were  able  to  understand  the  English 
of  their  service,  or  to  turn  an  epistle  out  of  Latin  into 
English  ;  and  I  know  there  were  not  many  beyond  the 
Humber  who  could  do  it.  There  were  so  few  that  I 
cannot  think  of  one  on  the  south  side  of  the  Thames 
when  I  first  began  to  reign.     .     .     . 

I  called  to  mind  that  the  law  was  first  written  in  the 
Hebrew  tongue  ;  and  that  when  the  Greeks  learned  it, 
they  translated  it  into  their  own  language,  besides 
many  other  books.  And  after  them  the  Latins,  when 
they  learned  it,  translated  it,  by  means  of  wise  inter- 
preters, into  their  own  language,  as  all  other  Christian 
people,  too,  have  turned  some  part  of  it  also  into  their 
own  tongue.  For  which  reason  I  think  it  best  that  we 
also  should  turn  into  the  language  which  we  all  of  us 
know,  some  such  books  as  are  deemed  most  useful  for 
all  men  to  understand;  and  that  we  do  our  best  to 
effect,  as  easily  as  we  may,  with  God's  help,  if  we  have 
quietness,  that  all  the  youth  of  free-born  Englishmen, 
such  as  have  wealth  enough  to  maintain  them,  be  brought 
up  to  learn,  that,  when  at  an  age  when  they  can  do 
nothing  else,  they  may  learn  to  read  the  English  lan- 
guage then  ;   and  that  afterward  the  Latin  tongue  shall 


328  ALFRED   THE    GREAT 

be  taught  to  those  whom  they  have  it  in  their  power  to 
teach  and  promote  to  a  higher  condition. 

Alfred's  period  of  literary  activity  most  probably 
was  confined  mainly  to  the  ten  or  twelve  years  of 
peace  after  the  defeat  of  the  Danes  in  878.  The 
translation  of  Boethius  appears  to  have  been  be- 
gun in  884,  and  the  last  of  his  works  was  proba- 
bly written  in  893  ;  for  after  that  the  whole  of  his 
time  was  most  likely  taken  up  by  the  critical 
position  of  his  kingdom,  menaced  as  it  was  by 
foreign  foes.  The  translation,  or  rather  para- 
phrase, of  the  De  Consolatione  Philosophice  of  Boe- 
thius must  have  been  a  labor  of  love  with  Alfred. 
Boethius,  who  flourished  about  A.D.  500,  was  per- 
haps the  last  of  the  Roman  writers  who  were 
versed  in  Greek  literature,  and  whose  productions 
deserve  to  rank  by  the  side  of  those  of  the 
Augustan  age.  The  forty-seven  Metres  into  which 
Alfred  rendered  the  work  of  Boethius  are  among 
the  best  specimens  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry.  Metre 
VI.,  On  Change,  is  one  of  the  shortest  of  these.  It 
is  here  given  in  the  original,  with  a  literal  line-for- 
line  translation,  which  will  serve  to  show  the 
marked  affinity  between  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  our 
present  English: 

ON  CHANGE. 

Tha  se  Wisdom  eft  Then  wisdom  afterward 

Word-hord  onleac.  Word-hoard  unlocked. 

Sang'  soth-ewidas.  Sang  various  maxims, 

And  thus  self  a  ewceth  :  And  thus  himself  expressed : 

Thonne  sio  sunne  When  the  Sun 

Sweotolost  scineth  Clearest  shineth 

Hadrost  of  hefone,  Serenest  in  the  heaven, 

HuEthe  Moth  athistrod  Quickly  are  obscured 

Ealleofereorthan  All  over  the  earth 


ALFRED   THE   GREAT 


329 


Othre  steorran  ; 

Forthcem  hiora  birhtti 

Ne  bith  aiehi 

So  gesettamte 

With  thare  sunnati  leoht. 

Thonne  stnolte  blcBwth 
Southan  and  west  an 
Wind  under  woioium, 
Thonne  weaxath  hrathe 
Feldes  blosiman, 
FcEgan  thcEt  hi  moton. 
Ac  se  stearea  storfn 
Thonne  he  strong  cyvith 
Northan  and  eastan. 
He  genimeth  hrathe 
Thcere  rosen  white 
And  eac  tha  ruman  see, 
Northerne  yst 
Nede  gebceded 

That  hio  strange  geondsiyred 
On  stathu  beateth 

Ea  la  /  thcet  on  eorthan 
Auht  foeslices 
Weorces  on  worulde 
Ne  wunath  cefrl 


Other  stars ; 

Because  their  brightness 

Is  not  aught 

When  set  beside 

With  that  Sun's  light. 

When  mildly  bloweth 
Southern  and  western 
Wind  under  clouds, 
Then  wax  rathly 
The  field's  blossoms, 
Joyful  that  they  may. 
But  the  stark  storm, 
When  he  strong  cometh 
Northern  and  eastern, 
He  taketh  away  rathly 
The  rose's  beauty. 
And  eke  the  roomy  sea. 
By  northern  storm 
Of  necessity  bidden. 
That  it  be  strongly  stirred  up. 
On  the  shore  beateth 

Alas  that  upon  earth 
Aught  fast-fixed 
Work  in  the  world 
Ne'er  abideth  forever ! 


ALGER,    Horatio,    Jr.,    an    American    author 
and    clergyman,  born    in    Revere,   Mass.,  January 
I3lh,   1834,  and   died   in    Natic,  Mass.,  July   i8th, 
1899.       He   graduated   at    Harvard   in    1852,  and, 
after  spending  three  years  in   teaching  and  jour- 
nalism, took   a   course    in    the    Cambridge    Theo- 
logical School.     He  then  spent  nearly   a  year  in 
European  travel,  at  the  same  time   acting   as   a 
newspaper   correspondent.     In    1864   he   was  or- 
dained pastor  of  a  Unitarian  church  in  Brewster, 
Mass.     In    1866  he  removed   to  New   York,  and 
soon  became  interested  in  the  condition  of  the 
street-boys  of  the  city,  which   fact  subsequently 
influenced  the  character  of  his  writings.     Besides 
his  contributions  to  periodical  literature,  he  has 
published  a  volume  of  poems  and  several  series  of 
books  for  boys,  including  lives  of  Webster,  Lin- 
coln, and   Garfield.     Among  his  favorite   stories 
for  boys  are :  Ragged  Dick,  Luck  and  Pluck,  and 
Tattered    Tom.      His   later    publications    include 
Strugglmg  Upward  (1890);  Dean  Dunham  (1891); 
Digging  for  Gold  (1892) ;  Facing  the   World  (1893) ; 
Only  an   Irish  Boy  and    Victor  Vane  (1894),    and 
Adrift  in  the  City  (1895). 

JOHN    OAKLEY's    trials. 

John  Oakley  had  triumphed  in  his  encounter  with 
Ben  Braj'ton,  and  rode  off  like  a  victor.  Nevertheless, 
he  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  doubtful  and  anxious 
about  the  future.     There  was  no  doubt  that  Ben  would 

(330) 


HORATIO  ALGER,    JR.  33I 

complain  to  his  mother,  and  as  it  was  by  her  express 
permission  that  he  had  taken  the  horse,  John  felt  appre- 
hensive that  there  would  be  trouble  between  himself 
and  his  stepmother.  I  have  already  said,  that,  though 
a  manly  boy,  he  was  not  quarrelsome.  He  preferred  to 
live  on  good  terms  with  all,  not  excepting  Ben  and  his 
mother,  although  he  had  no  reason  to  like  either  of 
them.  But  he  did  not  mean  to  be  imposed  upon,  or  to 
have  his  just  rights  encroached  upon  if  he  could 
help  it. 

What  should  he  do  if  Ben  persevered  in  his  claim,  and 
his  mother  supported  him  in  it  ?  He  could  not  decide. 
He  felt  that  he  must  be  guided  by  circumstances.  He 
could  not  help  remembering  how  four  years  before  Mrs. 
Brayton  (for  that  was  her  name  then)  answered  his 
father's  advertisement  for  a  housekeeper;  how,  when 
he  hesitated  in  his  choice,  she  pleaded  her  poverty,  and 
her  urgent  need  of  immediate  employment ;  and  how, 
influenced  principally  by  this  consideration,  he  took  her 
in  place  of  another  to  whom  he  had  been  more  favor- 
ably inclined.  How  she  should  have  obtained  sufficient 
influence  over  his  father's  mind  to  induce  him  to  make 
her  his  wife  after  the  lapse  of  a  year,  John  could  not 
understand.  He  felt  instinctively  that  she  was  artful 
and  designing,  but  his  own  frank,  open  nature  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  fathom  hers.  He  remembered 
again,  how,  immediately  after  the  marriage,  Ben  was 
sent  for,  and  was  at  once  advanced  to  a  position  in  the 
household  equal  to  his  own.  Ben  was  at  first  disposed 
to  be  polite,  and  even  subservient  to  himself,  but  grad- 
ually, emboldened  by  his  mother's  encouragement,  be- 
came more  independent,  and  even  at  times  defiant.  It 
was  not,  however,  until  now  that  he  had  actually  begun 
to  encroach  upon  John's  rights  and  assume  airs  of 
superiority.  He  had  been  feeling  his  way,  and  waited 
until  it  would  be  safe  to  show  out  his  real  nature.     .     .     . 

Plunged  in  thought,  he  had  suffered  Prince  to  subside 
into  a  walk,  when,  all  at  once,  he  heard  his  name  called. 

"  Hallo,  John  !  " 

Looking  up,  he  saw  Sam  Selwin,  son  of  Lawyer  Sel- 
win,  and  a  classmate  of  his  at  the  academy. 

"Is  that  you,  Sam?"  he  said,  halting  his  horse. 


332  HORATIO  ALGER.    JR. 

"  That  is  my  impression,"  said  Sam,  "  but  I  began  to 
think  it  wasn't  just  now,  when  my  best  friend  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  me." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  John,  "and  didn't  notice." 

"  Where  are  you  bound  ?" 

"  Nowhere  in  particular.  I  only  came  out  for  a 
ride." 

"  You're  a  lucky  fellow,  John." 

"  You  forget,  Sam,  the  loss  I  have  just  met  with  ;  " 
and  John  pointed  to  his  black  clothes, 

"  Excuse  me,  John.  You  know  I  sympathize  with 
you  in  that.  But  I'm  very  fond  of  riding,  and  never  get 
any  chance.     You  have  a  horse  of  your  own." 

"  Just  at  present." 

"Just  at  present  !  You're  not  going  to  lose  him,  are 
you?" 

"Sam,  I  am  expecting  a  little  difficulty,  and  I  shall 
feel  better  if  I  advise  with  some  friend  about  it.  You 
are  my  best  friend  in  school,  and  I  don't  know  but  in 
the  world,  and  I've  a  great  mind  to  tell  you." 

"  I'll  give  you  the  best  advice  in  my  power,  John,  and 
won't  charge  anything  for  it  either,  which  is  more  than 
my  father  would.  You  know  he's  a  lawyer,  and  has  to 
be  mercenary.  Not  that  I  ought  to  blame  him,  for 
that's  the  way  he  finds  us  all  in  bread  and  butter." 

"  I'll  turn  Prince  up  that  lane  and  tie  him,  and  then 
we'll  lie  down  under  a  tree,  and  have  a  good  talk." 

John  did  as  proposed.  Prince  began  to  browse, 
apparently  well  contented  with  the  arrangement,  and 
the  two  boys  stretched  themselves  out  lazily  beneath  a 
wide-spreading  chestnut  tree,  which  screened  them  from 
the  sun. 

"Now  fire  away,"  said  Sam,  "and  I'll  concentrate  all 
my  intellect  upon  your  case,  gratis." 

"I  told  you  that  Prince  was  mine  for  the  present," 
commenced  John.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  can  say  even 
that.  This  afternoon  when  I  got  home  I  found  Ben 
Brayton  just  about  to  mount  hin'.." 

"  I  hope  you  gave  him  a  piece  of  your  mind." 

"  I  ordered  him  off,"  said  John,  quietly,  "  when  he  in- 
formed me  that  the  horse  was  his  now — that  his  mother 
had  given  it  to  hiia" 


HORATIO  ALGER,    JR.  333 

"  What  did  you  say  ? " 

"  That  it  was  not  hers  to  give.  I  seized  the  horse  by 
the  bridle  till  he  became  alarmed  and  slid  off.  He  then 
came  at  me  with  his  riding-whip,  and  struck  me." 

"  I  didn't  think  he  had  pluck  enough  for  that.  I  hope 
you  gave  him  as  good  as  he  sent." 

"  I  pulled  the  whip  away  from  him,  and  gave  him  two 
blows  in  return.  Then  watching  my  opportunity  I 
sprang  upon  the  horse,  and  here  I  am." 

"And  that  is  the  whole  story?" 

"  Yes." 

**  And  you  want  my  advice  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I'll  give  it.  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive 
or  perish,  stick  to  that  horse,  and  defy  Ben  Brayton  to 
do  his  worst." 

"  It  seems  to  me  I've  heard  part  of  that  speech  be- 
fore," said  John,  smiling.  "As  to  the  advice,  I'll  follow 
it  if  I  can.  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  Ben  Brayton  can 
do  ;  but  suppose  his  mother  takes  his  part  ? " — Luck 
and  Fluck, 


ALGER,  William  Rounseville,  an  American 
Unitarian  clergyman  and  author,  born  at  Free- 
town, Mass.,  December  30,  1822.  He  graduated 
at  Harvard  College,  and  at  the  Cambridge  Di- 
vinity School  in  1847;  became  pastor  of  a  Uni- 
tarian congregation  at  Roxbury,  Mass.,  and  in 
1855  succeeded  Theodore  Parker  as  minister  of 
the  Society  of  "  Liberal  Christians,"  in  Boston. 
In  1876  he  became  minister  of  the  Unitarian 
Church  of  the  Messiah,  in  New  York,  of  which 
Orville  Dewey  and  Samuel  Osgood — who  after- 
ward became  an  Episcopalian — had  been  pastors. 
Mr.  Alger  held  this  position  for  three  years,  and 
was  succeeded  by  Robert  Collyer.  All  these  suc- 
cessive ministers  of  the  Church  of  the  Messiah 
have  won  a  place  in  the  literature  of  their  day. 
After  vacating  his  pastoral  charge  in  New  York, 
Mr.  Alger  preached  for  three  years  at  various 
places  in  the  West,  and  about  1882  returned  to 
New  England,  to  devote  himself  to  general  litera- 
ture, which  had  indeed  been  his  main  vocation 
almost  from  the  first. 

His  principal  works  are:  A  Symbolic  History  of 
the  Cross  of  Christ  (185 1) ;  The  Poetry  of  the  Orient 
(1856);  A  Critical  History  of  the  Doctrine  of  a 
Future  Life,  to  which  Ezra  Abbot  appended  a 
notable  appendix,  elsewhere  noticed  (1861);  TJie 
Genius  of  Solitude   (1866);    Friendships  of    Women 


WILLIAM  ROUNSEVILLE  ALGER  335 

(1867);  Prayers  offered  in  the  MassacJmsetts  House 
0/ Representatives  (1S68);  The  End  of  the  World 
and  the  Day  of  Jjidgmcnt  (1870);  The  Szvord,  the 
Pen,  and  the  Pulpit  (1870) ;  Life  of  Edivin  Forrest 
(1877);  The  School  of  Life  {i^2>i)\  The  Sources  of 
Consolation  in  Human  IJfe  (1892).  The  most 
notable  of  his  works  is  the  Critical  History  of  a 
Future  Life. 

THE    PROBLEM    OF    A    FUTURE    LIFE. 

Pausing,  in  a  thoughtful  hour,  on  the  mount  of 
observation,  whence  the  whole  prospect  of  life  is  visible, 
what  a  solemn  vision  greets  us.  We  see  the  vast  pro- 
cession of  existence  flitting  across  the  landscape,  from 
the  shrouded  ocean  of  birth,  over  the  illum.inated  con- 
tinent of  experience,  to  the  shrouded  ocean  of  death. 
Who  can  linger  there  and  listen  unmoved  to  the  sub- 
lime lament  of  things  that  die!  Although  the  great 
exhibition  below  endures,  yet  it  is  made  up  of  changes, 
and  the  spectators  shift  as  often.  Each  rank  of  the 
past,  as  it  advances  from  the  mists  of  its  commencing 
career,  wears  a  smile  caught  from  the  morning  light  of 
hope;  but  as  it  draws  near  to  the  fatal  bourne  it  takes 
on  a  mournful  cast  from  the  shadows  of  an  unknown 
realm.  The  places  we  occupy  were  not  vacant  before 
we  came,  and  will  not  be  deserted  when  we  go;  but 
are  forever  filling  and  emptying  afresh.  We  appear: 
there  is  a  short  flutter  of  joys  and  pains — a  bright 
glimmer  of  smiles  and  tears — and  we  are  gone. 

But  whence  did  we  come?  and  whither  do  we  go?  Can 
human  thought  divine  the  answer?  It  adds  no  little 
solemnity  and  pathos  to  these  reflections  to  remember 
that  every  considerate  person  in  the  unnumbered 
successions  that  have  preceded  us  has,  in  his  turn,  con- 
fronted the  same  facts,  engaged  in  the  same  inquiry, 
and  been  swept  from  his  attempts  at  a  theoretic  soki- 
tion  of  the  problem  into  the  solemn  solution  itself; 
while  the  constant  refrain  in  the  song  of  existence 
soundeth  behind  him:     "One  generation  passeth  awa}', 


336  WILLIAM  ROUNSEVILLE  ALGER 

and  another  generation  conieth;  but  the  earth  abideth 
forever."  Widely  regarding  the  historj'  of  human  life 
from  the  beginning,  what  a  visionary  spectacle  it  is  ! 
How  miraculously  permanent  in  the  whole  ;  how  sor- 
rowfully evanescent  in  the  parts  !  What  pathetic  senti- 
ments it  awakens  !  Amidst  what  awful  mysteries  it 
hangs. 

Mr.  Alger  goes  on  through  several  hundreds  of 
pages  to  set  forth  the  manifold  and  multiform 
views  which  have  been  held  of  the  human  soul ; 
of  its  origin  and  future  condition  and  destiny,  as 
conceived  by  men  of  all  ages  and  countries  ;  and 
then  gives  his  own  conclusions  as  to  the  whole 
matter  of  the  future  life  —  premising  that,  "If 
the  boon  of  a  future  immortality  be  not  ours, 
therefore  to  scorn  the  gift  of  the  present  life  is 
to  act  not  like  a  wise  man,  who  with  grateful  piety 
makes  the  best  of  what  is  given  ;  but  like  a  spoiled 
child,  who,  because  he  cannot  have  both  his 
oranges  and  his  gingerbread  at  once,  pettishly 
flings  his  gingerbread  in  the  mud." 

THE   HERE   AND   THE    HEREAFTER. 

The  future  life — outside  of  the  realm  of  faith — to 
an  earnest  and  independent  inquirer,  and  considered 
as  a  scientific  question,  lies  in  a  painted  mist  of  un- 
certainty. There  is  room  for  hope,  and  there  is  room 
for  doubt.  The  wavering  evidences  in  some  moods 
preponderate  on  that  side,  in  other  moods  on  this  side. 
Meanwhile  it  is  clear  that,  while  he  lives  here,  the  best 
thing  he  can  do  is  to  cherish  a  devout  spirit,  cultivate  a 
noble  character,  lead  a  pure  and  useful  life  in  the  ser- 
vice of  wisdom,  humanity,  and  God  ;  and,  finally,  when 
the  appointed  time  arrives,  meet  the  issue  with  rever- 
ential and  affectionate  conformity,  without  dictating 
terms.  Let  the  vanishing  man  say — like  Riickert's 
dying  flower — '*  Thanks  to-day  for  all  the  favors  I  have 


WILLI  A  Af  ROUNSEVILLE  ALGER 


337 


received  from  sun  and  stream,  and  earth  and  sky  ;  for 
all  the  ornaments,  from  men  and  God,  which  have  made 
my  little  life  an  ornament  and  a  bliss.  Farewell  all  ! 
Content  to  have  had  my  turn,  I  now  fall  asleep  without 
a  murmur  or  a  sigh."  .  .  .  When  we  die,  may  the  Spirit 
of  Truth,  the  Comforter  of  Christ,  be  our  confessor  ; 
the  last  inhaled  breath  our  cup  of  absolution  ;  the  tears 
of  some  dear  friend  our  extreme  unction.  No  com- 
plaint for  past  trials,  but  a  grateful  acknowledgment  for 
all  blessings  our  parting  word.  And  then,  resigning 
ourselves  to  the  Universal  Father,  assured  that  what- 
ever ought  to  be,  and  is  best  for  us  to  be,  will  be. 
Either  absolute  oblivion  shall  be  welcome  ;  or  we  will 
go  forward  to  new  destinies,  whether  with  preserved 
identity,  or  with  transformed  consciousness  and  powers, 
being  indifferent  to  us,  since  the  will  of  God  is  done. — 
Critical  History  of  a  Future  Life. 


Vol.  I..— 2a 


ALISON,  Rev.  Archibald,  a  Scottish  divine 
and  author,  born  at  Edinburgh,  November  13, 
1757;  died  there  May  17,  1839.  He  was  educated 
at  the  University  of  Glasgow  and  at  Balliol  Col- 
lege Oxford ;  took  orders  in  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, and  received  several  valuable  preferments, 
fmall}^  returning  to  Edinburgh  in  1800,  and  becom- 
ing senior  minister  in  St.  Paul's  Chapel,  where 
his  eloquent  discourses  attracted  much  attention. 
His  Essays  on  the  Natuj'e  mid  Principles  of  Taste, 
first  published  in  1790,  is  established  as  an  Eng- 
lish classic.  In  181 1  he  published  two  volumes 
of  sermons.  Those  upon  the  Fonr  Seasons  are 
especially  admirable. 

EFFECT    OF   SOUNDS   AS   MODIFIED    BY    ASSOCIATION. 

The  howl  of  the  wolf  is  little  distinguished  from  the 
howl  of  the  dog,  either  in  its  tone  or  in  its  strength  ; 
but  there  is  no  comparison  between  their  sublimity. 
There  are  few,  if  any,  sounds  so  loud  as  the  most  com- 
mon of  all  sounds,  the  lowing  of  a  cow  ;  yet  this  is  the 
very  reverse  of  sublimity.  Imagine  this  sound,  on  the 
contrary,  expressive  of  fierceness  or  strength,  and  there 
can  be  no  doubt  tliat  it  would  become  sublime.  The 
hooting  of  the  owl  at  midnight,  or  amid  ruins,  is  strik- 
ingly sublime  ;  the  same  sound  at  noon,  or  during  the 
day,  is  very  far  from  being  so.  The  scream  of  the 
eagle  is  simply  disagreeable  when  the  bird  is  either 
tame  or  confined  ;  it  is  sublime  only  when  it  is  heard 
amid  rocks  and  deserts,  and  when  it  is  expressive  to  us 
of  liberty  and  independence,  and  savage  majesty.  The 
neighing  of  a  war-horse  on  the  field  of  battle,  or  of  a 

(338) 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON  339 

j'oung  untamed  horse  when  at  large  among  mountains, 
is  powerfully  sublime  ;  the  same  sound  in  a  cart-horse, 
or  a  horse  in  a  stable,  is  simply  indifferent,  if  not  dis- 
agreeable. No  sound  is  more  absolutely  mean  than  the 
grunting  of  swine  ;  the  same  sound  in  the  wild  boar — . 
an  animal  remarkable  for  fierceness  and  strength — is 
sublime. 

The  low  and  feeble  sounds  of  animals  which  are  con- 
sidered the  reverse  of  sublime,  are  rendered  so  by  asso- 
ciation. The  hissing  of  a  goose,  and  the  rattle  of  a 
child's  plaything,  are  both  contemptible  sounds ;  but 
when  the  hissing  comes  from  the  mouth  of  a  dangerous 
serpent,  and  the  noise  of  the  rattle  is  that  of  the  rattle- 
snake, although  they  do  not  differ  from  the  others  in 
intensity,  they  are  both  of  them  highly  sublime.  There 
is  certainly  no  resemblance  between  the  noise  of  thun- 
der and  the  hissing  of  a  serpent ;  between  the  growling 
of  a  tiger  and  the  explosion  of  gunpowder  ;  between 
the  scream  of  the  eagle  and  the  shouting  of  a  multi- 
tude :  yet  all  of  these  are  sublime.  In  the  same  man- 
ner there  is  as  little  resemblance  between  the  tinkling 
of  the  sheep-fold  bell  and  the  murmuring  of  the  breeze  ; 
between  the  hum  of  the  beetle  and  the  song  of  the 
lark  ;  between  the  twittering  of  the  swallow  and  the 
sound  of  the  curfew  :  yet  all  these  are  beautiful. — 
Essays  on  Taste. 

ASSOCIATIONS   OF    THE    PAST. 

Even  the  peasant,  whose  knowledge  of  former  time? 
extends  but  to  a  few  generations,  has  yet  in  his  village 
some  monuments  of  the  deeds  or  virtues  of  his  fore- 
fathers, and  cherishes  with  a  fond  veneration  the  me- 
morial of  those  good  old  times  to  which  his  imagination 
turns  with  delight,  and  of  which  he  loves  to  recount  the 
simple  tales  that  tradition  has  brought  him.  And  what 
is  it  that  constitutes  the  emotion  of  sublime  delight 
which  every  man  of  common  sensibility  feels  upon  his 
first  prospect  of  Rome  ?  It  is  not  the  scene  of  destruc- 
tion which  is  before  him.  It  is  not  the  Tiber,  dimin- 
ished in  his  imagination  to  a  paltry  stream,  flowing 
amidst  the  ruins  of  that  magnificence  which  it  once 
adorned.     It  is  not  the  triumph  of  Superstition  over 


340  ARCHIBALD  ALISON 

the  wreck  of  human  greatness,  and  its  monuments 
erected  upon  the  very  spot  where  the  first  honors  of 
humanity  have  been  gained.  It  is  ancient  Rome  which 
fills  his  imagination.  It  is  the  country  of  Ceesar,  of 
Cicero,  and  Virgil  which  he  sees  before  him.  It  is  the 
Mistress  of  the  World  which  he  sees,  and  who  seems  to 
him  to  rise  again  from  the  tomb  to  give  laws  to  the 
universe.  All  that  the  labors  of  his  youth,  or  the  stud- 
ies of  his  maturer  age,  have  acquired  with  regard  to 
the  history  of  this  great  people  open  at  once  on  his 
imagination,  and  present  him  with  a  field  of  high  and 
solemn  imagery  which  can  never  be  exhausted.  Takt. 
from  him  these  associations — conceal  from  him  that  i'. 
is  Rome  which  he  sees — and  how  different  would  b^ 
his  emotion. — Essays  on  Taste. 

THE    LESSONS   OF    AUTUMN, 

There  is  an  eventide  in  the  day;  an  hour  when 
the  sun  retires  and  the  shadows  fall,  and  when  viature 
assumes  the  appearance  of  soberness  and  silence.  It  is 
an  hour  from  which  everywhere  the  thoughtless  fly,  as 
peopled  only,  in  their  imagination,  with  images  of 
gloom.  It  is  the  hour,  on  the  other  hand,  which  in 
every  age  the  wise  have  loved,  as  bringing  with  it  senti- 
ments and  affections  more  valuable  than  all  the  splen- 
dors of  the  day.  Its  first  effect  is  to  still  all  the  turbu- 
lence of  thought  or  passion  which  the  day  may  have 
brought  forth.  We  follow  with  our  eyes  the  descend- 
ing sun  ;  we  listen  to  the  decaying  sounds  of  labor  and 
of  toil ;  and,  when  all  the  fields  are  silent  around  us,  we 
feel  a  kindred  stillness  to  breathe  upon  our  souls,  and 
to  calm  them  from  the  agitations  of  society.  From  this 
first  impression  there  is  a  second,  which  naturally  fol- 
lows it :  In  the  day  we  are  living  with  men  ;  in  the 
eventide  we  begin  to  live  with  nature  ;  we  see  the 
world  withdrawn  from  us,  the  shades  of  night  darken 
over  the  habitations  of  men,  and  we  feel  ourselves  alone. 
It  is  an  hour  fitted,  as  it  would  seem,  by  Him  who  made 
us,  to  still,  but  with  gentle  hand,  the  throb  of  every 
unruly  passion,  and  the  ardor  of  every  impure  desire  ; 
and  while  it  veils  for  a  time  the  world  that  misleads  us, 
to    awaken   in  our   hearts  those   legitimate   affections 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON  34i 

which  the  heat  of  the  day  may  have  dissolved.  In  the 
moment  when  earth  is  overshadowed,  Heaven  opens 
to  our  eyes  the  radiance  of  a  sublimer  being:  our  hearts 
follow  the  successive  splendors  of  the  scene,  and  while 
we  forget  for  a  time  the  obscurity  of  earthly  concerns, 
we  feel  that  there  are  *'yet  greater  things  than  these." 

There  is,  in  the  second  place,  an  eventide  in  the 
year  :  a  season  when  the  sun  withdraws  his  propitious 
light ;  when  the  winds  arise  and  the  leaves  fall,  and 
nature  around  us  seems  to  sink  into  decay.  It  is  said, 
in  general,  to  be  "  the  season  of  melancholy ;  "  and  if  by 
this  word  be  meant  that  it  is  the  time  of  solemn  and 
serious  thought,  it  is  undoubtedly  the  season  of  melan- 
choly. Yet  it  is  a  melancholy  so  soothing,  so  gentle  in 
its  approach,  and  so  prophetic  in  its  influence,  that  they 
who  have  known  it  feel,  as  instinctively,  that  it  is  the 
doing  of  God,  and  that  the  heart  of  man  is  not  thus 
finely  touched  but  to  fine  issues.  We  rise  from  our 
meditations  with  hearts  softened  and  subdued,  and  we 
return  into  life  as  into  a  shadowy  scene,  where  we  have 
"disquieted  ourselves  in  vain." 

Yet  a  few  years,  we  think,  and  all  that  now  bless,  or 
all  that  now  convulse  humanity,  will  also  have  perished. 
The  mightiest  pageantry  of  life  will  pass  ;  the  loudest 
notes  of  triumph  or  of  conquest  will  be  silent  in  the 
grave;  the  wicked,  wherever  active,  "will  cease  from 
troubling,"  and  the  weary,  wherever  suffering,  "  will 
be  at  rest."  Under  an  impression  so  profound,  we  feel 
our  own  hearts  better.  The  cares,  the  animosities,  the 
hatreds,  which  society  may  have  engendered,  sink  un- 
perceived  from  our  bosoms.  In  the  general  desolation 
of  nature  we  feel  the  littleness  of  our  own  passions  ; 
we  look  forward  to  that  kindred  evening  which  time 
must  bring  to  all ;  we  anticipate  the  graves  of  those  we 
hate  as  of  those  we  love.  Every  unkind  passion  falls 
with  the  leaves  that  fall  around  us  ;  and  we  return 
Uowly  to  our  homes,  and  to  the  family  which  surround 
us,  with  the  wish  only  to  enlighten  or  to  bless  them. — 
Sermons  on  the  Seasons. 


ALISON,  Sir  Archibald,  a  Scottish  histGiian, 
son  of  the  Rev.  Archibald  Alison  ;  born  at  Kenley, 
Shropshire,  England,  where  his  father  was  then 
vicar,  December  29,  1792;  died  near  Glasgow, 
Scotland,  May  23,  1867.  His  father  returned  to 
his  native  Scotland  in  1800,  and  with  his  family 
took  up  his  residence  in  Edinburgh.  The  son  was 
educated  at  the  Universit}^  of  Edinburgh,  studied 
law,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  18 14.  He 
then  travelled  on  the  Continent,  and  published  an 
account  of  his  travels  in  France.  He  rose  to  emi- 
nence in  his  profession,  was  made  Deputy  Advo- 
cate-General in  1822,  member  of  the  Crown  Coun- 
oil  in  1828,  and  Sheriff  of  Lanarkshire  in  1834, 
having  in  the  meanwhile  published  several  valu- 
able legal  works.  He  was  successively  Lord 
Rector  of  Marischal  College,  Aberdeen,  and  of 
Glasgow  University,  and  was  created  a  baronet 
in  1852.  His  works  are  very  numerous,  including 
many  essays,  political,  historical,  and  miscellane- 
ous, originally  contributed  to  Blackwooa' s  Maga- 
zine, and  in  1850  published  separately  in  three  vol- 
umes :  Principles  of  Population  (2  vols.,  1840),  com- 
bating the  theory  of  Malthus  ;  England  in  181^ 
and  18/J.5,  discussing  the  currency  question  ;  and 
the  Life  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  (1847  ;  third 
and  ver}'  much  enlarged  edition,  1855).  His  prin- 
cipal works,  however,  are  the  History  of  Europe, 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON'  "43 

from  the  commencement  of  the  French  Revolu. 
tion  to  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons  (1039-42), 
and  a  continuation,  bringing  the  narrativti  down 
to  the  accession  of  Louis  Napoleon  (1852-59). 
This  continuation  is  acknowledged  to  be  of  very 
slight  value.  "  The  author  has  not  exercised  much 
care  in  its  composition.  It  is  hastily  and  inaccu- 
rately written,  and  is  disfigured  by  blunders,  omis- 
sions, and  inconsistencies.  The  diffuse  style  of 
the  narrative,  which  was  felt  as  a  drawback  on 
the  earlier  History,  is  still  more  conspicuous  in 
this  continuation."  The  first  history  achieved  a 
great  temporary  success,  and  was  translated  not 
only  into  all  European  languages,  but  also  into 
Arabic  and  Hindustani.  Upon  the  whole,  even 
this  work  is  regarded  as  of  no  very  high  author- 
ity, although  it  has  not  a  few  distinguishing  mer- 
its. Perhaps  the  descriptions  of  military  opera- 
tions are  the  best  features  of  the  work.  The 
prejudices  of  the  author  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
being  an  impartial  and  reliable  historian  of  the 
causes  of  events,  and  his  moral  reflections,  in 
which  he  is  extremely  diffuse,  "  are  quite  un- 
worthy of  the  author  of  the  narrative  portions  of 
the  history."  His  hatred  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion itself  led  him  to  adopt  the  most  exaggerated 
statements  of  the  atrocities  committed  during  the 
"  Reign  of  Terror."  He  adopts  without  qualifica- 
tion the  statement  of  Prudhomme  that  "  18,063 
persons  were  guillotined  by  order  of  the  Re\^olu- 
tionary  Tribunal,"  whereas  the  number  fell  some- 
what short  of  2,500.  He  sums  up — still  following 
Prudhomme — the   number  of  the   victims  of  the 


344  ARCHIBALD  ALISON 

Revolution  at  more  than  a  million,  among  whom 
were ^"900,000  men,  15,000  women,  and  22,000 
children,  slain  in  La  Vendee ; "  and  this,  he  says, 
does  not  include  the  whole  number  of  victims.  In 
setting  forth  the  immediate  causes  which  brought 
about  the  Revolution,  he  enumerates  fairly  the 
enormous  wrongs  and  oppressions  under  which 
the  people  labored  ;  but  adds,  strangely  enough, 
that  "  the  immediate  source  of  the  convulsion 
was  the  spirit  of  innovation  which  overspread 
France."  The  value  of  Alison's  History  of  Eu- 
rope rests  upon  the  vigor  of  isolated  passages 
rather  than  upon  its  merits  as  a  whole.  In  writ- 
ing the  Life  of  the  Diike  of  Marlborough,  he  was 
not  swayed  by  his  prejudices,  and  the  work  is  of 
high  value. 

EPOCHS  IN    EUROPEAN   HISTORY,    1815-52. 

The  First  Period,  commencing  with  the  entry  of  the 
Allies  into  Paris,  after  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  terminates 
with  the  passing  of  the  Currency  Act  of  1819  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  great  creation  of  Peers  in  the  democratic 
interest  during  the  same  year  in  France.  The  effects  of 
the  measures  pursued  during  this  period  were  not  per- 
ceived at  the  time ;  but  they  are  very  apparent  now. 
The  seeds  which  produced  such  decisive  results  in  after 
times  were  all  sown  during  its  continuance. 

^\it  Second  Period  begins  with  the  entire  establish- 
ment of  a  Liberal  Government  and  system  of  adminis- 
tration in  France  in  1819,  and  ends  with  the  revolution 
which  overthrew  Charles  X.  in  1830.  Foreign  transac- 
tions begin,  during  this  era,  to  become  of  importance  ; 
for  it  embraces  the  revolutions  of  Spain,  Portugal, 
Naples,  and  Piedmont  in  1820  ;  the  rise  of  Greece  as 
an  independent  State  in  the  same  year  ;  and  the  im- 
portant wars  of  Russia  with  Turkey  and  Persia  in  1828 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON'  345 

and  1829  ;  and  the  vast  conquests  of  England  in  India 
over  the  Goorkhas  and  Burmese  Empire.  The  topics 
it  embraces  are  more  varied  and  exciting  than  those 
in  the  first ;  but  they  are  not  more  important.  They 
are  the  growth  which  followed  the  seeds  previously 
sown.  England  and  France  were  still  the  leaders  in 
the  movement ;  the  convulsions  of  the  world  were  but 
the  consequences  of  the  throes  in  them. 

The  Third  Pej-iod  commences  with  the  great  debate 
on  the  Reform  Bill — of  tv/o  years'  continuance — in  Eng- 
land in  1831,  and  ends  with  the  overthrow  of  the  Whig 
Ministry,  by  the  election  of  October,  1841.  The  great 
and  lasting  effects  in  the  change  in  the  Constitution 
of  Great  Britain,  by  the  passing  of  the  Reform  Act, 
partially  developed  themselves  during  this  period,  and 
the  return  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  to  power  was  the  first 
great  reaction  against  them.  During  the  same  time, 
the  natural  effects  of  the  revolution  in  France  appeared 
in  the  government — unavoidable  in  the  circumstances 
— of  mingled  force  and  corruption  of  Louis  Philippe, 
and  the  growth  of  discontent  in  the  inferior  classes  of 
society,  from  the  disappointment  of  their  expectations 
as  to  the  result  of  the  previous  convulsion.  Foreign 
episodes  of  surpassing  interest  signalize  this  period  : 
for  it  contains  the  heroic  effort  of  the  Poles  to  restore 
their  national  independence  in  1831  ;  the  revolt  of  Ib- 
raham  Pasha,  the  bombardment  of  Acre,  and  the  narrow 
escape  of  Turkey  from  ruin  ;  our  invasion  of  Afghan- 
istan, and  subsequent  disaster  there. 

The  Fourth  Period^  commencing  with  the  noble  con- 
stancy in  adversity  displayed  by  Sir  Robert  Peel  and 
the  English  Government  in  1842,  terminates  with  the 
overthrow  of  Louis  Philippe,  and  consequent  European 
Revolutions  in  February,  1848.  If  these  years  were 
fraught  with  internal  and  social  changes  of  the  very 
highest  moment  to  the  future  destinies  of  Great  Britain, 
and  of  the  whole  civilized  World,  they  were  not  less  dis- 
tinguished by  the  brilliancy  of  her  external  triumphs. 
They  witnessed  the  second  expedition  into  Afghanistan, 
and  capture  of  Cabul ;  the  conclusion  of  a  glorious 
peace  with  China  under  the  walls  of  Nankin  ;  the  con- 
quest of  Scinde  and  desperate  passage  of  arms  on  the 


346  ARCHIBALD  ALISON 

Sutlej.  Never  did  appear  in  such  striking  cola^r,  the 
immense  superiority  which  the  arms  of  Civilization  had 
acquired  over  those  of  Barbarism,  as  in  this  brief  and 
animating  period. 

The  Fifth  Period  commences  with  the  overthrow  of 
Louis  PhiHppe  in  February,  1848,  and  terminates  with 
the  seizure  of  supreme  power  by  Louis  Napoleon  in  1852. 
It  is,  beyond  all  example,  rich  in  external  and  internal 
events  of  the  very  highest  moment,  and  attended  by 
lasting  consequences  in  every  part  of  the  world.  It 
witnessed  the  spread  of  revolution  over  Germany  and 
Italy,  and  the  desperate  military  strife  to  which  it  gave 
rise  ;  the  brief  but  memorable  campaign  in  Italy  and 
Hungary  ;  and  the  bloodless  suppression  of  revolution 
in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  by  the  patriotism  of  her 
People  and  the  firmness  of  her  Government.  Interest- 
ing, however,  as  these  events  were,  they  yield  in  ulti- 
mate importance  to  those  which,  at  the  same  period, 
were  in  progress  in  the  distant  parts  of  the  earth.  The 
rich  territories  of  the  Punjaub  were,  during  this  period, 
added  to  the  British  dominions  in  India,  which  was 
now  bounded  only  by  the  Indus  and  the  Himalaya  snows. 

At  the  same  time  the  spirit  of  republican  aggrandize- 
ment— not  less  powerful  in  the  New  than  in  the  Old 
World — impelled  the  Anglo-Saxons  over  their  feeble 
neighbors  in  Mexico  :  Texas  was  overrun,  California 
conquered,  and  the  discovery  of  gold  mines,  of  vast  ex- 
tent and  surpassing  richness,  hitherto  unknown  to  man, 
changed  the  fortunes  of  the  world.  The  simultaneous 
discovery  of  mines  of  the  same  precious  metal  in  Aus- 
tralia acted  as  a  magnet,  which  attracted  the  stream  of 
migration  and  civilization,  for  the  first  time  in  the  his- 
tory of  mankind,  to  the  Eastern  world.  And  now, 
while  half  a  million  Europeans  annually  land  in  America, 
and  double  the  already  marvellous  increase  of  Trans- 
atlantic increase,  a  hundred  thousand  Anglo-Saxons 
yearly  migrate  to  Australia,  and  lay  the  foundations  of 
a  second  England  and  another  Europe,  in  the  vast  seats 
provided  there  for  their  reception. 

Events  so  wonderful,  and  succeeding  one  another 
with  such  rapidity,  must  impress  upon  the  most  incon- 
siderate observer  the  belief  of  a  great  change  going  for- 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON"  347 

ward  in  human  affairs,  of  which  we  are  the  unconscious 
instruments.  That  change  is  The  Second  Dispersion  of 
Mankind:  the  spread  of  Civilization,  the  extension  of 
Christianity,  over  the  hitherto  desert  and  unpeopled 
parts  of  the  earth.  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  pas- 
sions of  civilization,  the  discoveries  of  science,  or  the 
treasures  of  the  wilderness  have  acted  most  powerfully 
in  working  out  this  great  change. — Preface  to  History  of 
Europe^  iSij-j2. 

SCOTT,    BYRON,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  is  universally  considered  as  the 
greatest  writer  of  imagination  of  this  century.  Like 
most  other  great  men  the  direction  of  his  genius  was 
in  a  great  degree  determined  by  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  arose  ;  but  its  character  was  exclusively  his 
own.  Close  observation  of  nature,  whether  animate  or 
inanimate,  was  his  great  characteristic ;  the  brilliancy 
of  fancy,  the  force  of  imagination,  were  directed  to 
clothing  with  sparkling  colors  her  varied  creations.  It 
is  hard  to  say  whether  his  genius  was  most  conspicu- 
ous in  describing  the  beauties  of  nature,  or  delineating 
the  passions  of  the  heart.  He  was  at  once  pictorial 
and  dramatic.  He  was  at  first  known  as  a  poet  ;  but 
charming  as  his  poetic  conceptions  were,  they  were  ere- 
long eclipsed  by  the  wide-spread  fame  of  his  prose  ro- 
mances. The  novels  of  "the  Author  of  Waverley" 
caused  the  poems  of  Walter  Scott  to  be  for  a  time  for- 
gotten ;  but  time  has  re-established  them  in  their  celeb- 
rity. .  .  .  With  his  great  and  varied  powers  Scott 
might  have  been  a  most  dangerous  writer,  if,  like  Vol- 
taire, he  had  directed  them  to  sapping  the  foundations 
of  religion,  or  to  the  delineation  of  the  degrading  or  the 
licentious  in  character.  But  the  elevated  strain  of  his 
mind  preserved  him  from  such  contamination.  It  was 
on  the  noble — whether  in  high  or  low  life — that  his 
affections  were  fixed.  Alike  in  delineating  the  manners 
of  feudal  times,  or  the  feelings  of  the  cottage,  the  dig- 
nity of  man  was  ever  uppermost  in  his  mind.  No  man 
ever  threw  a  more  charming  radiance  over  the  tradi 
tions  of  ancient  times  ;  but  none  ever  delineated  in  a 


348  ARCHIBALD  ALISON' 

nobler  spirit  the  virtues  of  the  present ;  and  his  dis- 
criminating eye  discovered  them  equally  under  the 
thatch  of  the  cottage  as  in  the  halls  of  the  castle.  Per- 
haps he  is  the  only  author  of  numerous  works  of  fiction 
of  whom  it  may  with  truth  be  said  that  he  never  wrote 
a  line  which  on  his  death-bed  he  could  wish  recalled. 
Waver  ley,  Guy  Ma?inering,  The  Antiquary,  The 
Bride  of  Lanunermoor,  Old  Mortality,  are  the  perfection 
of  romantic  pictures  of  later  times  ;  The  Abbot,  Quentin 
Durivard,  and  Ivanhoe,  of  the  days  of  chivalry.  But 
these  rich  veins  were  at  length  exhausted,  and  the  pro- 
lific fancy  of  the  author  diverged  into  other  scenes  and 
periods  in  which  he  had  not  such  authentic  materials  to 
work  with,  and  where  his  graphic  hand  was  no  longer 
to  the  same  degree  perceptible.  Some  of  his  later  ro- 
mances are  so  inferior  to  the  first  that  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  they  have  been  composed  by  the  same  master 
spirit.  It  is  on  the  earlier  novels,  which  delineate  the 
manners,  feelings,  and  scenes  of  Scotland,  and  a  few, 
such  as  Ivanhoe,  Kenihvorth,  The  Talisman,  and  Quentin 
Durward,  that  his  fame  as  a  writer  of  romance  wiK 
permanently  rest. 

Byron  is  the  author  who,  next  to  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
has  obtained  the  most  wide-spread  reputation  in  the 
world.  And  yet  his  character  and  the  style  of  his  writ- 
ings differ  so  widely  from  those  of  "  the  Wizard  of  the 
North,"  it  is  difficult  to  understand  how,  at  the  same 
time,  they  attained  almost  equal  celebrity.  .  .  .  It  is 
on  Childe  Harold,  more  than  on  his  metrical  romances, 
that  his  reputation  will  ultimately  rest.  ■  The  reputation 
of  the  latter  was  at  first  prodigious.  They  were  so  much 
admired  not  because  they  were  founded  on  nature,  but 
because  they  differed  from  it.  Addressed  to  the  exclu- 
sive circles  of  London  society,  they  fell  upon  the  high- 
born votaries  of  fasliion  with  the  charm  of  novelty  ; 
they  breathed  the  language  of  vehement  passion,  which 
was  as  new  to  them  as  the  voice  of  nature,  speaking 
through  the  dreamy  soul  of  Rousseau,  had  been  to  the 
corrupted  circles  of  Parisian  society  half  a  century  be- 
fore. As  such,  they  excited  an  immense  sensation,  and 
even  more  than  the  thoughtful  and  yet  pictured  pages  of 
Childe  Harold^  raised  the  author  to  the  very  pinnacle  of 


ARCHIBALD  ALISOiV  349 

celebrity.  ...  In  one  class  of  readers  the  dramas 
of  Byron  have  won  for  him  a  very  high  reputation  ;  in 
another  Don  Juan  is  his  passport  to  popularity.  But 
though  characterized  by  ardent  genius,  and  abounding 
with  noble  Hnes,  his  dramatic  pieces  want  the  elements 
of  durable  fame.  They  are  too  wild  for  ordinary  life, 
too  extravagant  for  theatrical  representation.  ,  .  . 
Donjuan  is  different  ;  there  is  much  in  it  which  unhap- 
pily too  powerfully  rouses  every  human  breast.  But 
although  works  of  fiction  in  which  genius  is  mingled 
with  licentiousness,  often  at  first  acquire  a  very  great 
celebrity,  at  least  with  one  sex,  they  labor  under  an  in- 
superable objection.  They  cannot  be  the  subject  of 
conversation  with  the  other.  Works  of  fiction  are 
chiefly  interesting  to  both  sexes,  because  they  portray 
the  feelings  by  which  they  are  attracted  to  each  other. 
When  they  are  of  such  a  description  that  neither  can 
communicate  those  feelings  to  the  other,  the  great  ob- 
ject of  composition  is  lost,  and  a  lasting  celebrity  to  the 
author  is  impossible. 

Wordsworth  presented  in  most  respects  a  most  de- 
cided contrast  to  Southey,  his  neighbor  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Cumberland.  He  had  not  Southey's  informa- 
tion ;  was  not  distracted  by  any  prose  compositions ;  and 
made  no  attempt  to  traverse  the  numerous  and  varied 
fields  of  thought  or  industry  which  Southey  has  tilled 
with  so  much  zeal.  But  on  that  very  account  he  was 
more  successful,  and  has  left  a  far  greater  reputa- 
tion. He  was  less  discursive  than  his  brilliant  rival, 
but  more  profound.  Little  attended  to — as  works 
of  that  stamp  generally  are  in  the  outset  —  they 
gradually  but  unceasingly  rose  in  public  estimation  ; 
they  took  a  lasting  hold  of  the  highly  educated  youth  of 
the  next  generation  ;  and  he  now  numbers  among  his 
devout  worshippers  many  of  the  ablest  men,  profound 
thinkers,  and  most  accomplished  and  discriminating 
women  of  the  age.  Indeed,  great  numbers  of  persons, 
whose  mental  powers,  cultivated  taste,  and  extensive 
acquirements  entitle  their  opinions  to  the  very  highest 
consideration,  yield  him  an  admiration  approaching  to 
idolatrj^  and  assign  him  a  place  second  only  to  Milton 
in  English  poetry.   He  is  regarded  by  them  in  much  the 


350  ARCHIBALD  ALISON 

same  light  that  Goethe  is  by  the  admiring  ana  .nipas- 
sioned  multitudes  of  the  Fatherland.  It  may  be 
doubted,  however,  whether  with  all  his  depth  of  thought, 
simplicity  of  mind,  and  philosophic  wisdom,  Wordsworth 
will  ever  get  that  general  hold  of  the  English  mind 
which  Goethe  has  done  of  the  German  mind.  The  rea- 
son is,  that  he  is  not  equally  imaginative.  He  is  a  great 
philosophic  poet ;  and  to  minds  of  a  reflective  turn,  no 
writer  possesses  more  durable  or  enchaining  charms. 
But  how  many  are  the  thoughtful  and  reflecting  to  the 
great  body  of  mankind.  .  .  .  As  the  active  bears  so 
great  a  proportion  to  the  speculative  part  of  mankind, 
Goethe,  who  depicts  the  feelings  of  the  former,  will 
always  be  a  more  general  favorite  than  Wordsworth, 
who  delineates  the  speculations  of  the  latter.  But  that 
very  circumstance  only  enhances  the  admiration  felt  for 
the  English  poet  by  that  small  but  gifted  portion  of  the 
human  species  who,  mingling  with  the  active  part  of  the 
world,  yet  judge  them  with  the  powers  of  the  specu- 
lative. 

Coleridge  in  some  respects  bore  a  close  resemblance 
to  Wordsworth  ;  but  in  others  he  was  widely  different. 
He  was  deep  and  reflecting,  learned  in  philosophic  lore, 
and  fond  of  critical  disquisition.  He  was  less  abstract 
than  Wordsworth,  but  more  dramatic  ;  less  philosophic, 
but  more  pictorial.  Deeply  penetrated  with  the  genius 
of  Schiller,  he  has  transferred  the  marvels  of  two  of  the 
great  German's  immortal  dramas  on  Wallenstein  to  the 
English  tongue  with  the  exactness  of  a  scholar  and  kin- 
dred inspiration  of  a  poet.  His  Ode  to  Mount  Blanc  is 
one  of  the  sublimest  productions  in  that  lofty  style  in 
the  English  language.  But  he  is  far  from  having  at- 
tained the  world-wide  fame  of  Gray,  Burns,  and  Camp- 
bell in  that  branch  of  poetry.  The  reason  is,  that  his 
ideas  and  images  are  too  abstract,  and  too  little  drawn 
from  the  occurrences  or  objects  of  common  life.  He 
was  deeply  learned,  and  his  turn  of  mind  strongly  meta- 
physical. But  it  is  neither  by  learning  or  metaphysics 
that  lasting  celebrity,  either  in  oratory  or  poetry,  is  to 
be  attained.  Eloquence,  to  be  popular,  must  be  in  ad- 
vance of  the  age,  and  but  a  little  in  advance.  Poetry, 
to  move   the  general  mind,  must  be  founded   on  ideas 


ARCHIBALD  ALISON 


351 


common  to  all  mankind,  and  feelings  with  which  every- 
one is  familiar;  but  yet  educe  from  them  novel  and 
pleasing  conceptions.  It  reaches  its  highest  fhght  when, 
from  these  common  ideas  and  objects,  it  draws  forth 
uncommon  and  elevating  thoughts  ;  conceptions  which 
meet  with  a  responsive  echo  in  every  breast,  but  had 
never  occurred,  at  least  with  equal  felicity,  to  anyone 
before. — History  of  Europe^  1813-^2,  Chap.  V. 


ALLEN,  Charles  Grant  Blairfindie,  com- 
monly known  as  Grant  Allen — who  has  also  writ- 
ten under  the  nom  de  plume  both  of  Cecil  Power 
and  J.  Arbuthnot  Wilson — a  British  scientific  writer 
and  novelist,  was  born  February  24,  1848,  on  Wolf 
Island,  opposite  Kingston,  Canada,  where  his  father 
was  the  incumbent  of  the  Anglican  Church,  and  died 
October  25,  1899,  ^^  graduated  at  Oxford  in  187 1. 
In  1873  he  was  appointed  Professor  of  Logic  and 
Philosophy  at  Queen's  College,  Spanish  Town, 
Jamaica,  and  from  1874  until  1877  was  its  princi- 
pal. He  then  returned  to  England,  where  he  has 
since  lived.  Among  his  scientific  writings  are: 
Physiological  Ethics  (1877)  !  ^-^^^  Color  Sense  (1879)  I 
The  Evolutiojtist  at  Large  (1881) ;  Colin  Cloufs  Cal- 
endar (1882),  and  Force  and  Energy  (1888).  Among 
his  most  popular  novels  are  :  In  All  Shades  (1886) 
and  This  Mortal  Coil  {iZ'i'S).  His  most  recent  pub- 
lications are  :  What's  Bredin  the  Bone  {Boston,  1891), 
a  prize  story,  for  which  he  received  i^  1,000;  Dti- 
niaresqs  DangJiter  (1891) ;  The  Duchess  of  Powysland 
(1891);  Blood  Royal  (1893);  Dr.  Pallisers  Patient  ; 
The  Attes  of  Catnllus ;  Science  in  Arcady  ;  The  Story 
of  the  Plants  ;  The  Woman  Who  Did ;  British  Barba- 
riafts  (iSgS),  and  A  Hill-top  Novel  {i2)g6).  He  has 
also  contributed  a  series  of  papers,  Post-prandial 
Philosophy,  to  the  Westminster  Gazette.  In  1885  he 
published  a  life  of  Charles  Darwin,  in  Andrew 
Lang's  series  of  English  Worthies. 


CHARLES   GRANT  BLAIRFIXDIE   ALLEN       353 


FLOWERS    AND    INSECTS, 

I  suppose  even  that  apocryphal  person,  the  general 
reader,  would  be  insulted  at  being  told  at  this  hour  of 
the  day  that  all  bright-colored  flowers  are  fertilized  by 
the  visits  of  insects,  whose  attentions  they  are  specially 
designed  to  solicit.  Everybody  has  heard  over  and 
over  again  that  roses,  orchids,  and  columbines  have  ac- 
quired their  honey  to  allure  the  friendly  bee,  their  gaudy 
l^etals  to  advertise  the  honey,  and  their  divers  shapes  to 
ensure  the  proper  fertilization  by  the  correct  type  of 
insect.  But  everybody  does  not  know  how  specifically 
certain  blossoms  have  laid  themselves  out  for  a  particu- 
lar species  of  fly,  beetle,  or  tiny  moth.  Here  on  the 
higher  downs,  for  instance,  most  flowers  are  exception- 
ally large  and  brilliant ;  while  all  Alpine  climbers  must 
have  noticed  that  the  most  gorgeous  masses  of  bloom 
in  Switzerland  occur  just  below  the  snow-line.  The 
reason  is,  that  such  blossoms  must  be  fertilized  by  but- 
terflies alone.  Bees,  their  great  rivals  in  honey-suck- 
ing, frequent  only  the  lower  meadows  and  slopes,  where 
flowers  are  many  and  small  ;  they  seldom  venture  far 
from  the  hive  or  the  nest  among  the  high  peaks  and 
chilly  nooks  where  we  find  those  great  patches  of  blue 
gentian  or  purple  anemone,  which  hang  like  monstrous 
breadths  of  tapestry  upon  the  mountain  sides.  This 
heather  here,  now  fully  opening  in  the  warmer  sun  of 
the  southern  counties — it  is  still  but  in  the  bud  among 
the  Scotch  hills,  I  doubt  not — specially  lays  itself  out 
for  the  humble  bee,  and  its  masses  form  about  his  high- 
est pasture-grounds;  but  the  butterflies — insect  vagrants 
that  they  are — have  no  fixed  home,  and  they  therefore 
stray  far  above  the  level  at  which  bee-blossoms  alto- 
gether cease  to  grow.  Now,  the  butterfly  differs  great- 
ly from  the  bee  in  his  mode  of  honey-hunting  ;  he  does 
not  bustle  about  in  a  business-like  manner  from  one 
buttercup  or  dead-nettle  to  its  nearest  fellow  ;  but  he 
flits  joyously,  like  a  sauntering  straggler  that  he  is,  from 
a  great  patch  of  color  here  to  another  great  patch  at  a 
distance,  whose  gleam  happens  to  strike  his  roving  eye 
by  its  size  and  brilliancy.  Plence,  as  that  indefatigable 
Vol.  I. — 23 


354        CHARLES   GRAXT  BLAIRFIXDIE  ALLEN 

observer,  Dr.  Herman  Miiller,  has  noticed,  all  Alpine  or 
hill-top  flowers  have  very  large  and  conspicuous  blos- 
soms, generally  grouped  together  in  big  clusters  so  as 
to  catch  a  passing  glance  of  the  butterfly's  eye.  As  soon 
as  the  insect  spies  such  a  cluster,  the  color  seems  to  act 
as  a  stimulant  to  his  broad  wings,  just  as  the  candle- 
light does  to  those  of  his  cousin,  the  moth.  Off  he  sails 
at  once,  as  if  by  automatic  action,  toward  the  distant 
patch,  and  there  both  robs  the  plant  of  its  honey  and  at 
the  same  time  carries  to  it  on  his  legs  and  head  fertil- 
izing pollen  from  the  last  of  its  congeners  which  he 
favored  with  a  call.  For  of  course  both  bees  and  but- 
terflies stick  on  the  whole  to  a  single  species  at  a  time  ; 
or  else  the  flowers  would  only  get  uselessly  hybridised 
instead  of  being  impregnated  with  pollen  from  other 
plants  of  their  own  kind.  For  this  purpose  it  is  that 
most  plants  lay  themselves  out  to  secure  the  attention 
of  only  two  or  three  varieties  among  their  insect  allies, 
while  they  make  their  nectaries  either  too  deep  or  too 
shallow  for  the  convenience  of  all  other  ki«ci6  ■ — The 
Evolutionist  at  Large. 


ALLEN,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  (Chase)  (pseudo- 
nvm,  "  Florence  Percy"),  an  American  poet,  also 
known  as  Mrs.  Akers  Allen  (from  Paul  Akers,  the 
sculptor,  her  first  husband),  was  born  in  Strong, 
Me.,  October  9,  1832.  She  began  writing  at  a  very 
early  age,  and  published  her  first  volume,  Forest 
Buds,  in  1855.  Soon  after  this  she  became  a  con- 
tributor to  the  Atlantic  MontJily  and  other  peri- 
odicals. Her  second  volume  of  poems  appeared 
in  1866,  in  which  is  her  well-known  poem  Rock  Me 
to  Sleep,  Mother.  Later  appeared  The  Silver  Bridge 
and  Other  Poems  (1886) ;  Gold  Nails  to  Hang  Mem- 
ories On  (1890),  and  The  High-Top  Szi'ceting  (iSgi). 
From  1873  to  1879  Mrs.  Allen  was  the  literary  edi- 
tor of  the  Portland,  Me.,  Advertiser.  Many  of  her 
poems  have  been  set  to  music. 


IN    A    GARRET. 

This  realm  is  sacred  to  the  silent  past ; 

Within  its  drowsy  shades  are  treasures  rare 
Of  dust  and  dreams  ;  the  years  are  long  since  last 

A  stranger's  footfall  pressed  the  creaking  stair. 

This  room  no  housewife's  tidy  hand  disturbs  ; 

And  here,  like  some  strange  presence,  ever  clings 
A  homesick  smell  of  dry  forgotten  herbs — 

A  musty  odor  as  of  mouldering  things. 

Here  stores  of  withered  roots  and  leaves  repose, 
For  fancied  virtues  prized.  u-\  days  of  yore, 
(355) 


356  ELIZABETH  ALLEN 

Gathered  with  thoughtful  care,  mayhap  by  those 
Whose  earthly  ills  are  healed  for  evermore. 

Here  shy  Arachne  winds  her  endless  thread, 
And  weaves  her  silken  tapestry  unseen, 

Veiling  the  rough-hewn  timbers  overhead, 
And  looping  gossamer  festoons  between. 

Along  the  low  joists  of  the  sloping  roof, 
Moth-eaten  garments  hang,  a  gloomy  row, 

Like  tall  fantastic  ghosts,  which  stand  aloof. 
Holding  grim  converse  with  the  long  ago. 

Here  lie  remembrances  of  childish  joys — 
Old  fairy-volumes,  conned  and  conned  again, 

A  cradle,  and  a  heap  of  battered  toys, 

Once  loved  by  babes  who  now  are  bearded  men. 

Here,  in  the  summer,  at  a  broken  pane, 

The  yellow  wasps  come  in,  and  buzz  and  build 

Among  the  rafters  ;  wind  and  snow  and  rain 
All  enter,  as  the  seasons  are  fulfilled. 

This  mildewed  chest  behind  the  chimney,  holds 
Old  letters,  stained  and  nibbled,  faintly  show 

The  faded  phrases  on  the  tattered  folds 

Once  kissed,  perhaps,  or  tear-wet — who  may  know? 

I  turn  a  page  like  one  who  plans  a  crime. 

And  lo  !  love's  prophecies  and  sweet  regrets, 

A  tress  of  chestnut  hair,  a  love-lorn  rhyme, 
And  fragrant  dust  that  once  was  violets. 

I  wonder  if  the  small  sleek  mouse,  that  shaped 
His  winter  nest  between  these  time-stained  beams, 

Was  happier  that  his  bed  was  lined  and  draped 

With  the  bright  warp  and  woof  of  youthful  dreams? 

Here  where  the  gray  incessant  spiders  spin, 
Shrouding  from  view  the  sunny  world  outside, 

A  golden  bumblebee  has  blundered  in 
And  lost  the  way  to  liberty,  and  died. 


ELIZABETH  ALLEN  357 

So  the  lost  present  drops  into  the  past ; 

So  the  warm  living  heart,  that  loves  the  light, 
Faints  in  the  unresponsive  darkness  vast 

Which  hides  time's  buried  mysteries  from  sight. 

Why  rob  these  shadows  of  their  sacred  trust  ? 

Let  the  thick  cobwebs  hide  the  day  once  more  ; 
Leave  the  dead  years  to  silence  and  to  dust, 

And  close  again  the  long  unopened  door. 

— The  High- Top  Sweeting, 


ALLEN,  James  Lane,  an  American  novelist 
and  poet,  born  in  Fayette  County,  Ky.,  December 
21,  1849.  Hi3  early  education  was  received  in  a 
private  school  on  his  father's  plantation,  and  in 
this  school  he  was  also  fitted  for  college.  He  en- 
tered Kentucky  University  at  Lexington,  and  in 
1872  graduated  as  bachelor  of  arts,  later  earning 
the  degree  of  master  of  arts.  He  engaged  as  in- 
structor in  the  University  and  as  principal  of  the 
Preparatory  Academy  connected  with  it  and,  after- 
ward, as  a  professor  at  his  alma  mater  and  at 
Bethany  College,  W.  Va.  In  1898  Kentucky  Uni- 
versity conferred  upon  him  the  honorary  degree 
of  LL.D.  Mr.  Allen  did  not  make  his  debut  as 
a  writer  until  about  thirty-five  years  of  age.  His 
first  published  work  was  in  verse,  and  ap- 
peared in  various  magazines.  He  won  a  recog- 
nized place  at  once  because  of  the  remarkable 
excellence  of  his  style.  Short  stories  followed  the 
verses.  His  published  works  are:  FluU  and 
Violin  (1891);  TJie  Blue-Grass  Region  of  Kentucky 
(1892);  John  Gray,  A  Kentucky  Tale  of  the  Olden 
Time  (1893);  A  Ke?itucky  Cardinal  (1894);  After- 
math (1895);  Summer  in  Arcady  (1897),  and  The 
Choir  Invisible.  Many  of  the  sketches  included 
in  these  volumes  were  first  published  in  Har- 
per's and  The  Century.  In  speaking  of  Mr.  Al- 
len's works  in  general,  a  prominent  critic  says: 
"  In  telling  a  story  of  vital  interest,  Mr.  Allen 
gives  us  a  record  of  value  to  every  student  of  his- 
tory or  of  the  historic  aspect  of  society,  a  study 
of  the  civilization  of  a  century  ago,  not  merely  of 

(358) 


JAMES  LA.VE  ALLEN  359 

Kentucky,  but  of  the  young  Republic.  He  repro- 
duces with  the  utmost  faithfulness  the  landscape, 
manners,  customs,  and  characters  of  the  time, 
with  some  of  those  problems  which  belong  to  no 
time,  but  are  always  as  old  as  the  race  and  as  new 
as  the  individual." 

REV.  JAMES   MOORE. 

On  one  of  the  dim  walls  of  Christ  Church,  in  Lexing. 
ton,  Ky,,  there  hangs,  framed  in  thin  black  wood,  an  old 
rectangular  slab  of  marble.  A  legend  sets  forth  that 
the  tablet  is  in  memory  of  the  Reverend  James  Moore, 
first  minister  of  Christ  Church  and  President  of  Tran- 
sylvania University,  who  departed  this  life  in  the  year 
1814,  at  the  age  of  forty-nine.  Just  beneath  runs  the 
record  that  he  was  learned,  liberal,  amiable,  and  pious. 

Save  this  concise  but  not  unsatisfactory  summary, 
little  is  now  known  touching  the  reverend  gentleman. 
A  search  through  other  sources  of  information  does,  in- 
deed, result  in  reclaiming  certain  facts.  Thus,  it  ap- 
pears that  he  was  a  Virginian,  and  that  he  came  to 
Lexington   in  the  year  1792,  when  Kentucky  ceased  to  . 

be  a  county  of  Virginia,  and  became  a  State.     At  first  \^ 

he  was  a  candidate  for  the  ministry  of  the  Presbyterian 
church ;  but  the  Transylvania  Presbytery  having  re- 
proved him  for  the  liberality  of  his  sermons,  James 
kicked  against  such  rigor  in  his  brethren,  and  turned  for 
refuge  to  the  bosom  of  the  Episcopal  communion.  But 
this  body  did  not  offer  much  of  a  bosom  to  take  refuge 
in. 

Virginia  Episcopalians  there  were  in  and  around  the 
little  wooden  town  ;  but  so  rampant  was  the  spirit  of  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  influence  of  French  infidel- 
ity that  a  celebrated  local  historian,  who  knew  thor- 
oughly  the  society  of  the  place,  though  Vv^riting  of  it 
long  afterward,  declared  that  about  the  last  thing  it 
would  have  been  thought  possible  to  establish  there 
was  an  Episcopal  church. 

Not  so  thought  James.  He  beat  the  cane-brakes  and 
scoured  the  buffalo  trails  for  his  Virginia  Episcopalians, 


36o  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

huddled  them  into  a  dilapidated  little  frame-house  on 
fhe  site  of  the  present  building,  and  there  fired  so 
deadl}'  a  volley  of  sermons  at  the  sinners  free  of 
charge,  that  they  all  became  living  Christians.  Indeed, 
he  fired  so  long  and  so  well  that  several  years  later — 
under  favor  of  Heaven  and  through  the  success  of  a  lot- 
tery with  a  one-thousand-dollar  prize,  and  nine  hundred 
and  seventy-four  blanks — there  was  built  and  furnished  a 
small  brick  church,  over  which  he  was  regularly  called 
to  ofificiate  twice  a  month  at  a  salary  of  two  hundred 
dollars  a  year. 

Here  authentic  history  ends,  except  for  the  additional 
fact  that  in  the  university  he  sat  in  the  chair  of  logic, 
metaphysics,  moral  philosophy,  and  belles-lettres — a 
large  chair  to  sit  in,  with  ill-matched  legs  and  most  un- 
certain bottom.  Another  authority  is  careful  to  state 
that  he  had  a  singularly  sweet  breath  and  beautiful 
manners.  Thus,  it  has  been  well  with  the  parson,  as 
respects  his  posthumous  fame ;  for  how  many  of  our 
fellow-creatures  are  learned  without  being  amiable, 
amiable  without  being  pious,  and  pious  without  having 
beautiful  manners ! 

And  yet  tlie  best  that  may  be  related  of  him  is  not 
told  in  the  books  ;  and  it  is  only  when  we  have  allowed 
the  dust  to  settle  once  more  upon  the  histories,  and  have 
peered  deep  into  the  mists  of  oral  tradition,  that  the 
parson  is  discovered  standing  there  in  spirit  and  the 
flesh,  but  muffled  and  ghost-like,  as  a  figure  seen  through 
a  dense  fog. 

A  tallj  thinnish  man,  v/ith  silky,  pale-brown  hair,  worn 
long  and  put  back  behind  his  ears,  the  high  tops  of 
which  bent  forward  a  little  under  the  weight,  and  thus 
took  on  the  most  remarkable  air  of  paying  incessant  at- 
tention to  everybody  and  everything  ;  set  far  out  in 
front  of  these  ears,  as  though  it  did  not  wish  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  what  was  heard,  a  white,  wind-splitting  face, 
calm,  beardless,  and  seeming  never  to  have  been  cold, 
or  to  have  dropped  the  kindly  dew  of  perspiration  ;  gray 
eyes,  patient  and  dreamy,  being  habitually  turned  in- 
ward upon  a  mind  toiling  with  hard  abstractions  ;  hav- 
ing within  him  a  conscience  burning  always  like  a 
planet;  a  bachelor — being  a  logician  ;  therefore  sweet- 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN  361 

tempered,  never  having  sipped  the  sour  cup  of  experi- 
ence; gazing  covertly  at  womankind  from  behind  the 
delicate  veil  of  unfamiliarity  that  lends  enchantment ; 
being  a  bachelor  and  a  bookworm,  therefore,  already 
old  at  forty,  and  a  little  run-down  in  his  toilets,  a  little 
frayed  out  at  the  elbows  and  the  knees,  a  little  seamy 
along  the  back,  a  little  deficient  at  the  heels  ;  in  pocket 
poor  always,  and  always  the  poorer  because  of  a  spend- 
thrift habit  in  the  matter  of  secret  charities  ;  kneeling 
down  by  his  small,  hard  bed  every  morning  and  pray- 
ing that  during  the  day  his  logical  faculty  might  dis- 
charge its  function  morally,  and  that  his  moral  faculty 
might  discharge  its  function  logically,  and  that  over  all 
the  operations  of  all  his  other  faculties  he  might  find 
heavenly  grace  to  exercise  both  a  logical  and  a  moral 
control ;  at  night  kneeling  down  again  to  ask  forgive- 
ness that,  despite  his  prayer  of  the  morning,  one  or  more 
of  these  same  faculties — he  knew  and  called  them  all 
familiarly  by  name,  being  a  metaphysician — had  gone 
wrong  in  a  manner  the  most  abnormal,  shameless,  and  un- 
foreseen ;  thus,  on  the  whole,  a  man  shy  and  dry,  gentle, 
lovable,  timid,  resolute,  forgetful,  remorseful,  eccentric, 
impulsive,  thinking  too  well  of  every  human  creature 
but  himself,  an  illogical  logician,  an  erring  moralist,  a 
wool-gathering  philosopher,  but,  humanly  speaking,,  al- 
most a  perfect  man. 

But  the  magic  flute?     Ah,  yes!     The  magic  flute! 

Well,  the  parson  had  a  flute—a  little  one — and  the 
older  he  grew,  and  the  more  patient  and  dreamy  his  gray 
eyes,  always  the  more  devotedly  he  blew  his  little 
friend.  How  the  fond  soul  must  have  loved  it !  They 
say  that  during  his  last  days,  as  he  lay  propped  high  on 
white  pillows,  once,  in  a  moment  of  wandering  con- 
sciousness, he  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  in  fancy 
lifting  it  from  the  white  counterpane,  carried  it  gently 
to  his  lips.  Then,  as  his  long  delicate  fingers  traced  out 
the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone,  and  his  mouth  pursed  it- 
self in  the  fashion  of  one  who  is  softly  blowing,  his 
whole  face  was  overspread  with  a  halo  of  ecstatic  peace. 

And  yet,  for  all  the  love  he  bore  it,  the  parson  was 
never  known  to  blow  his  flute  between  the  hours  of 
sunrise  and  sunset — that  is,  never  but  once.     Alas,  that 


362  JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

memorable  day  !  But  when  the  night  fell  and  he  cat:  le 
home — home  to  the  two-story  log-house  of  the  widow 
Spurlock  ;  when  the  widow  had  given  him  his  supper  of 
coffee,  sweetened  with  brown  sugar ;  hot  johnny-cake, 
with  perhaps  a  cold  joint  of  venison  and  cabbage 
pickle  ;  when  he  had  taken  from  the  supper-table,  by 
her  permission,  the  solitary  tallow-dip  in  its  little  brass 
candlestick  and  climbed  the  rude,  steep  stairs  to  his 
room  above  ;  when  he  had  pulled  the  leathern  string 
that  lifted  the  latch,  entered,  shut  the  door  behind  him 
on  the  world,  placed  the  candle  on  a  little  deal  table 
covered  with  text-books  and  sermons,  and  seated  him- 
self beside  it  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair,  then — he  began 
to  play  ?     No ;  then  there  was  a  dead  silence. 

For  about  half  an  hour  this  silence  continued.  The 
widow  Spurlock  used  to  say  that  the  parson  was  giving 
his  supper  time  to  settle  ;  but  alas  !  it  must  have  set- 
tled almost  immediately,  so  heavy  was  the  johnny-cake. 
Howbeit,  at  the  close  of  such  an  interval,  anyone 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  below,  or  listening 
beneath  at  the  window  on  the  street  outside,  would  have 
heard  the  silence  broken. 

At  first  the  parson  blew  low,  peculiar  notes,  such  as  a 
kind  and  faithful  shepherd  might  blow  at  nightfall  as 
an  invitation  for  his  scattered,  wandering  sheep  to 
gather  home  about  him.  Perhaps  it  was  a.  way  he  had 
of  calling  in  the  disordered  flock  of  his  faculties — some 
weary,  some  wounded,  some  torn  by  thorns,  some  with 
their  fleeces — which  had  been  washed  white  in  the 
morning  prayer — now  bearing  many  a  stain.  But  when 
they  had  all  answered,  as  it  were,  to  this  musical  roll-call, 
and  had  taken  their  due  places  within  the  fold  of  his 
brain,  obedient,  attentive,  however  weary,  however  suf- 
fering— then  the  flute  was  laid  aside,  and  once  more 
there  fell  upon  the  room  intense  stillness ;  the  poor 
student  had  entered  upon  his  long,  nightly  labors.— 
Flute  and  Violin. 


ALLERTON,  Ellen  (Palmer),  an  American 
poetess,  born  at  Centreville,  N.  Y.,  in  1835;  died 
at  Padonia,  Kan.,  September,  1893.  In  1862  she 
was  married  to  Mr.  Alpheus  Allerton,  with  whom 
she  took  up  her  home  in  Wisconsin,  where  they 
resided  until  1879,  when  they  removed  to  Hamlin, 
Kan.  Mrs.  Allerton  early  manifested  a  fond- 
ness for  literature,  but  wrote  little  for  publica- 
tion until  after  her  marriage,  when  she  began  to 
contribute  largely,  especially  in  verse,  to  the 
newspapers  in  the  far  west.  A  volume  of  these 
poems  was  collected  in  1885,  under  the  title  of 
Annabel,  and  other  Poems.  Poems  of  the  Prairies 
appeared  in  1889.  The  title-poem  of  this  volume 
had  never  before  been  published,  and  indeed 
hardly  equals  the  spirit  and  freshness  of  the  earlier 
and  shorter  pieces,  which  are  imbued  with  the 
fresh,  vigorous  spirit  of  civilized  life  on  the  broad, 
fertile  prairies.  One  of  these  poems,  which  stands 
as  a  sort  of  motto  for  the  whole,  is: 

MY    AMBITION. 


I  have  my  own  ambition.     It  is  not 

To  mount  on  eagle  wings  and  soar  away 

Beyond  the  palings  of  our  common  lot. 

Scorning  the  griefs  and  joys  of  every  day  ; 

I  would  be  human — toiling  like  the  rest. 

With  tender  human  heart-beats  in  my  breast. 

(363) 


'M  ELLEN  ALLERTON 

And  so  beside  my  door  I  sit  and  sing 

My  simple  strains — nov/  sad,  now  light  and  gay, 

Happy  if  this  or  that  but  wake  one  string, 

Whose  low,  sweet  echoes  give  me  back  the  lay. 

And  happier  still,  if  girded  by  my  song. 

Some    strained    and    tempted    soul    stands    firm    and 
strong.     .     .     . 

I  send  my  thought  its  kindred  thought  to  greet, 
Out  to  the  far  frontier,  through  crowded  town. 

Friendship  is  precious,  sympathy  is  sweet ; 
So  these  be  mine,  I  ask  no  laurel  crown. 

Such  my  ambition,  which  1  here  unfold ; 

So  it  be  granted,  mine  is  wealth  untold. 

One  of  the  freshest  and  most  characteristic  oJ 
these  prairie  poems  is  the  following : 

WALLS  OF   CORN. 

Smiling  and  beautiful,  heaven's  dome 
Bends  softly  over  our  prairie  home. 

But  the  wide,  wide  lands  that  stretched  away 
Before  my  eyes  in  the  days  of  May — 

The  rolling  prairie's  billowy  swell 
Breezy  upland  and  the  timbered  dell, 

Stately  mansion  and  hut  forlorn — 
All  are  hidden  by  walls  of  corn. 

All  the  wide  world  is  narrowed  down 
To  walls  of  corn,  now  sere  and  brown. 

What  do  they  hold,  those  walls  of  corn 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  mora? 

He  who  questions  may  soon  be  told, 

A  great  State's  wealth  these  walls  enfold. 

No  sentinels  guard  these  walls  of  corn, 
Never  is  sounded  the  warder's  horn  ; 


ELLE.V  ALLERTON"  365 

Yet  the  pillars  are  hung  with  gleaming  gold, 
Left  all  unbarred  though  thieves  are  bold  : — 

Clothes  and  food  for  the  toiling  poor, 
Wealth  to  heap  at  the  rich  man's  door ; 

Meat  for  the  healthy,  and  balm  for  him 
Who  moans  and  tosses  in  chambers  dim; 

Shoes  for  the  barefooted,  pearls  to  twine 
In  the  scented  tresses  of  ladies  fine; 

Things  of  use  for  the  lowly  cot, 

Where  (bless  the  corn)  want  cometh  not; 

Luxuries  rare  for  the  mansion  grand, 
Gifts  of  a  rich  and  fertile  land. 

All  these  things,  and  so  many  more 
It  would  fill  a  book  to  name  them  o'er, 

Are  hid  and  held  in  walls  of  corn, 

Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  morn. 

Where  do  they  stand,  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  morn  ?— • 

Open  the  atlas,  conned  by  rule 

In  the  olden  days  of  the  district  school ; 

Point  to  the  rich  and  bounteous  land 
That  yields  such  fruits  to  the  toiler's  hand. 

"Treeless  desert,"  they  called  it  then, 
Haunted  by  beasts  and  forsook  by  men. 

Little  they  knew  what  wealth  untold 

Lay  hid  where  the  desolate  prairies  rolled. 

Who  would  have  dared,  with  brush  or  pen, 
As  this  land  is  now,  to  paint  it  then  ? 

And  how  would  the  wise  ones  have  laughed  in  scorn, 
Had  the  prophet  foretold  these  walls  of  corn, 
Whose  banners  toss  on  the  breeze  of  mom ! 


ALLTBONE, Samuel  Austin,  LL.D.,  an  Amer- 
ican  bibliographer,  born  in  Philadelpliia,  Pa.,  April 
17,  1816;  died  in  Switzerland,  September  2,  1889. 
Although  actively  engaged  in  mercantile  business, 
he  was  an  earnest  student  in  English  literature, 
edited  for  several  years  the  publications  of  the 
American  Sunday- School  Union,  and  contrib- 
uted largely  to  the  NortJi  American  Review  and 
other  periodicals.  In  1882  he  became  librarian  of 
the  newly  established  Lenox  Library,  in  New 
York.  His  works,  which  are  mainly  bibliograph- 
ical compilations,  include  a  Critical  Dictionary  of 
English  Literature  (3  vols.,  1858-71)  ;  Poetical 
Quotatiojis,  from  Chaucer  to  Tennyson  (1873)  ;  Prose 
Quotations,  from  Socrates  to  Macaulay  (1875),  and 
Great  Authors  of  All  Ages  (1879).  His  greatest 
work  is  the  Critical  Dictionary  of  English  Litera- 
ture, from  the  earliest  period  down  to  the  latter 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  "  containing  over 
forty-six  thousand  authors,  with  forty  indexes  of 
subjects."  It  is  safe  to  say  that  there  is  scarcely 
a  writ(3r  in  the  language  who  has  during  the  long 
period  in  question  produced  any  book  worthy  of 
remembrance  who  is  not  described  with  more  or 
less  detail  in  these  volumes.  The  articles  relating 
to  the  great  writers  in  our  language  are  full  as 
to  the  works  themselves,  and   embody  also   the 

critical  estimates  of  them  as  enunciated  by  the 

C366) 


SAMUEL  A  USTIN  ALU  BONE  367 

best  authorities.  In  the  preface  and  introduction 
to  this  work  Mr.  Allibone  sets  forth  with  some 
minuteness  the  object  which  he  had  in  view  in  its 
compilation.  We  group  together  a  few  of  his 
most  characteristic  sentences : 


PURPOSE    OF    THE    DICTIONARY  OF    ENGLISH    LITERATURE. 

It  has  been  computed  that  of  the  650,000  volumes  in 
the  English  language,  about  50,000  would  repay  a  peru- 
sal. Suppose  a  person  to  read  100  pages  a  day,  or  100 
volumes  a  year,  it  would  require  500  years  to  exhaust 
such  a  library.  How  important  is  it,  then,  to  know 
what  to  read  ;  and  how  shall  this  knowledge  be  ob- 
tained ?  If  there  be  an  advantage  in  full  definition,  in 
alphabetical  arrangement,  and  consequent  facility  of 
reference  in  a  Dictionary  of  Words,  why  should  we  not 
have  a  Dictionary  of  Books  and  Authors,  as  well  as  of 
Words  ?  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that,  notwithstanding 
the  obvious  advantages  of  such  a  work,  there  was  none 
such  in  print  before  the  present  publication.  There 
were,  indeed,  meagre  "  Compendiums  "  of  English  Lit- 
erature, and  "  Comprehensive  Cyclopaedias,"  the  largest 
of  which  (with  the  exception  of  a  book  of  titles  of 
Works)  contains  about  850  out  of  more  than  30,000 
authors.  Much  of  such  knowledge,  too,  is  found  scat- 
tered here  and  there  in  expensive  biographical  compi- 
lations, which  can  never  become  popular,  because  very 
costly,  and  are,  indeed,  insufficient  authorities  in  literary 
history.  Deeply  lamenting  this  serious  deficiency  in 
the  English  Republic  of  Letters,  the  compiler  deter- 
mined to  undertake  the  preparation  of  the  long-desired 
work,  and  he  has  now  the  pleasure  of  presenting  to  the 
public  the  result  of  his  labors  extending  over  a  long 
period,  and  pursued  with  unwearied  zeal.  The  princi- 
pal features  of  the  work  are  the  following : 

I.  It  is  arranged  in  alphabetical  order,  to  insure  fa- 
cility of  reference. — 2.  While  professing  to  chronicle 
only  British  and  American  authors,  we  have  sometimes 
overlooked  the  question  of   nativity,  and   enrolled   a 


368  SAMUEL  A  USTIN  ALU  BONE 

writer  whose  insignia  of  literary  nobility  could  properly 
be  quartered  on  an  English  field  ;  such  as  Anselm,  Lan- 
franc,  Benoit  De  Sainte  Maur,  Peter  of  Blois,  and  Joseph 
Blanco  White. — 3.  As  a  general  rule,  a  succinct  biog- 
raphy is  given  of  each  author  of  note.  The  length  of 
such  notice,  of  course,  depends  upon  his  prominence  as 
an  individual,  and  his  rank  as  an  author.  Those  of  the 
first  class,  numbering  several  thousands,  are  treated  at 
considerable  length  ;  less  space  is  devoted  to  those  less 
distinguished. — 4.  Compilers  of  manuals  of  literature 
have  almost  universally  fallen  into  the  great  error  of 
giving  their  own  opinions  almost  exclusively  upon  the 
merits  of  the  authors  under  consideration.  Now  these 
opinions  may  be  valuable  or  not.  This  capital  error  is 
avoided  in  the  present  work.  The  compiler  occasion- 
ally ventures  an  opinion  of  his  own  ;  but  this  will  be 
merely  supplemental  to  opinions  better  known  and  more 
highly  appreciated  by  the  reading  public.  As  a  care- 
fully prepared  record  of  the  opinions  of  great  men  upon 
great  men,  this  book  will  prove  an  invaluable  guide  to 
the  student  of  literary  history. — 5.  The  laudable  curi- 
osity of  the  bibliomaniac,  or  lover  of  rare  works,  is  not 
forgotten  in  these  volumes. — 6.  The  second  division  of 
the  work  consists  of  a  copious  Index  of  Subjects,  so  that 
the  inquirer  can  find  at  a  glance  all  the  authors  of  any 
note  in  the  language,  arranged  under  the  subject  or  sub- 
jects upon  which  they  have  written.  The  compiler  thus 
presents  to  the  public,  in  a  single  work,  a  Comprehen- 
sive Manual  of  English  Literature — Authors  and  Sub- 
jects— a  Manual  which  is  to  the  Literature  of  the  lan- 
guage what  an  ordinary  Dictionary  is  to  the  Words  of 
the  language.     .     .     . 

In  conclusion,  we  would  impress  upon  our  readers 
the  duty  of  the  zealous  pursuit  of  those  paths  of 
learning  and  science  which  lead  to  usefulness,  happi- 
ness, and  honor.  Be  not  dismayed  by  the  apparently 
unattractive  character  of  much  of  the  scenery  through 
which  you  must  pass.  Persevere  ;  and  distaste  will 
soon  yield  to  pleasure,  and  repugnance  give  place  to 
enjoyment.  An  ever-present  and  influential  sense  of 
the  importance  of  the  goal  will  do  wonders  in  over- 
coming the  difficulties  of    the  way.     To  those  Israel- 


SAMUEL   AUSTIN  ALLIBONE 


369 


ites  whose  hearts  fainted  for  a  sight  of  their  beloved 
Temple,  the  sands  of  the  desert  and  the  perils  of  the 
road  presented  no  obstacles  which  their  energy  and 
their  faith  could  not  surmount.  The  arid  "  Valley  of 
Baca  "  to  them  became  a  well  ;  for,  in  the  beautiful 
language  of  the  Psalmist,  "  the  rain  also  filleth  the 
pools." — Preface  to  Dictionary  of  English  Literature. 


Vou  I. — 94 


ALLINGHAM,  William,  an  Irish  poet,  born 
in  Ballyshannon,  Ireland,  in  1828;  died  1889.  He 
began  to  contribute  to  literary  periodicals  at  an 
early  age,  and,  removing  to  England,  he  was  ap- 
pointed to  a  position  in  the  customs.  For  several 
years  he  was  editor  of  Frasers  Magazine,  in  which 
many  of  his  poems  first  appeared.  Among  these 
is  Laivrence  Bloomfield  in  Ireland,  which  contains 
nearly  five  thousand  lines,  and  sketches  the  char- 
acteristic features  of  contemporary  Irish  life. 
His  first  volume  of  poems  was  published  in  1850. 
This  was  followed  by  Day  and  Night  5^«^.y  (1854); 
Fifty  Modern  Poems  (1865) ;  and  Songs,  Poems,  and 
Ballads  (1877),  consisting  of  revised  versions  of 
many  pieces  before  published,  with  the  addition 
of  many  new  ones.  His  Lawrence  Bloomfield  was 
also  republished  in  a  separate  volume,  in  1869. 
In  1874  he  v»^as  married  to  Helen  Paterson  (born  in 
1848),  an  artist  of  very  decided  merit  in  water- 
colors,  and  a  draughtsman  upon  wood.  Although 
Mr.  Allingham  is  of  English  descent,  and  has 
resided  during  most  of  his  manhood  in  or  near 
London,  most  of  the  themes  of  his  poetry  are  de- 
rived from  his  native  Ireland.  His  birthplace, 
Ballyshannon,  is  fondly  referred  to  as 

The  kindly  spot,  the  friendly  town,  where  everyone  is 

known, 
And   not  a  face  in  all  the   place  but  partly  seems  my 

own. 


WILLIAM  ALLTNGHAM  371 

Mr.  Allingham's  poems,  though  not  rising  to 
the  highest  grade  of  art,  are  yet  genuine  in  their 
way,  evincing  a  fine  feeling  for  nature,  graceful 
fancy,  and  poetic  diction,  free  from  all  obscurity 
and  mysticism. 

TO    THE   NIGHTINGALES. 

You  sweet  fastidious  nightingales  i 
The  myrtle  blooms  in  Irish  vales. 
By  Avondhu  and  rich  Lough  Lene, 
Through  many  a  grove  and  bowerlet  green, 
Fair-mirrored  round  the  loitering  skiff. 
The  purple  peak,  the  tinted  cliff, 
The  glen  where  mountain-torrents  rave. 
And  foHage  blinds  their  leaping  wave, 
Broad  emerald  meadows  filled  with  flowers, 
Embosomed  ocean-bays  are  ours 
With  all  their  isles  ;  and  mystic  towers 
Lonely  and  gray,  deserted  long, 
Less  sad  if  they  might  hear  that  perfect  song , 

What  scared  ye?  (ours,  I  think,  of  old) 
The  sombre  fowl  hatched  in  the  cold  1 
King  Henry's  Normans,  mailed  and  stern, 
Smiters  of  galloglas  and  kern  ? 
Or,  most  and  worst,  fraternal  feud,  • 
Which  sad  lerne  long  hath  rued  ? 
Forsook  ye,  when  the  Geraldine, 
Great  chieftain  of  a  glorious  line, 
Was  haunted  on  his  hills  and  slain, 
And,  one  to  France  and  one  to  Spain, 
The  remnant  of  the  race  v/ithdrew  ? 
Was  it  from  anarchy  ye  flew, 
And  fierce  oppression's  bigot  crew, 
Wild  complaint,  and  menace  hoarse, 
Misled,  misleading  voices,  loud  and  coarse? 

Come  back,  O  birds,  or  come  at  last ! 
For  Ireland's  furious  days  are  past  ; 
And,  purged  of  enmity  and  wrong, 
Her  eye,  her  step,  grow  calm  and  strong^. 


37*  WILLIAM  ALLINGHAM 

Why  should  we  miss  that  pure  delight? 
Brief  is  the  journey,  swift  the  flight ; 
And  Hesper  finds  no  fairer  maids 
In  Spanish  bowers  or  English  glades. 
No  loves  more  true  on  any  shore, 
No  lovers  loving  music  more. 
Melodious  Erin,  warm  of  heart, 
Entreats  you  ;  stay  not  then  apart. 
But  bid  the  merles  and  throstles  know 
(And  ere  another  May-time  go) 
Their  place  is  in  the  second  row. 
Come  to  the  west,  dear  nightingales ! 
The  rose  and  myrtle  bloorit  in  Irish  vales. 


WA8HINGTON    ALLSTON. 


ALLSTON,  Washington,  an  American  painter 
and  author,  born  at  Waccamaw,  S.  C,  November 
5,  1779;  died  at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  July  9,  1843. 
He  entered  Harvard  College  in  1796,  and  after- 
ward began  the  study  of  medicine,  which  he 
soon  abandoned  for  art.  He  went  to  London, 
where  he  became  intimate  with  his  countryman, 
Benjamin  West,  then  President  of  the  Royal 
Academy.  In  1804  he  proceeded  to  Rome,  where 
he  remained  several  years,  finally  returning  to 
America  in  1 809.  Two  years  after  he  again  visited 
Europe,  and  gained  the  prize  of  two  hundred 
guineas  offered  by  the  British  Institution.  In 
1 8 19,  after  having  been  chosen  an  Associate  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  he  took  up  his  permanent  resi- 
dence at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  devoting  himself  to 
art  and  letters.  He  is  best  known  as  a  painter, 
the  subjects  of  most  of  his  pictures  being  drawn 
from  the  Old  Testament.  He  was  for  many  years 
engaged  upon  a  great  work,  Belshazzar  s  Feast, 
which  was  painted  over  and  over,  and  was  finally 
left  unfinished.  He  was  twice  married  ;  his  first 
wife,  who  died  in  1813,  being  the  sister  of  William 
Ellery  Channing ;  the  second,  to  whom  he  was 
married  in  1830,  was  a  sister  of  Richard  H.  Dana. 
He  had  the  capacity  for  taking  a  high  rank  among 
the  authors,  as  well  as  the  painters  of  his  genera- 
tion, but  his  published  writings  are  few.     They 

(373) 


374  WASHINGTON  ALLSTON 

might  all  be  comprised  in  two  moderate  volumes. 
In  prose  there  is  Monaldi,  an  Italian  romance,  pub- 
lished in  1841,  but  written  at  least  twenty  years 
before  ;  The  Hypochondriac,  a  short  magazine  story, 
and  four  Lectures  on  Art.  He  had  intended  to 
write  two  more  lectures ;  but,  although  the  first 
was  written  about  1830,  the  series  was  never  com- 
pleted, and  the  four  were  not  published  until  after 
his  death,  when  they  were  given  to  the  press  by 
Richard  H,  Dana,  Jr.,  with  a  brief  memoir  of  the 
author.  This  volume  also  contains  the  poetical 
works  of  Allston.  These  consist  of  The  Sylphs 
(j////^  5^rtj^«5-,  published  in  1813,  and  some  other 
poems  written  at  intervals  during  many  years. 
Among  these  are  America  to  Great  Britain,  in  18 10, 
which  was,  seven  3^ears  later,  inserted  by  Cole- 
ridge in  his  Sibylline  Leaves,  with  the  following 
note:  "This  poem,  written  b}^  an  American  gen- 
tleman, a  valued  and  dear  friend,  I  communicate 
to  the  reader  for  its  moral  no  less  than  its  poetic 
spirit." 

AMERICA    TO    ENGLAND. 

All  hail  !  thou  noble  land, 
Our  fathers'  native  soil ! 
O,  stretch  thy  mighty  hand, 
Gigantic  grown  by  toil, 
O'er  the  vast  Atlantic  wave  to  our  shore  ! 
For  thou  with  magic  might 
Canst  reach  to  where  the  light 
Of  Phoebus  travels  bright 
The  world  o'er ! 

The  genius  of  our  clime 

From  his  pine-embattled  steep, 

Shall  hail  the  guest  sublime  ; 
While  Tritons  of  the  deep 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON  375 

With  their  conchs  the  kindred  league  shall  proclaim. 
Then  let  the  world  combine  ; — 
O'er  the  main  our  naval  line 
Like  the  milky-way  shall  shine 
Bright  in  fame. 

Though  ages  long  have  past 

Since  our  fathers  left  their  home, 
Their  pilot  in  the  blast, 

O'er  untravelled  seas  to  roam, 
Yet  lives  the  blood  of  England  in  our  veins  ! 
And  shall  we  not  proclaim 
That  blood  of  honest  fame 
Which  no  tyranny  can  tame 
By  its  chains  ? 

While  the  language  free  and  bold 
Which  the  Bard  of  Avon  sung, 
In  which  our  Milton  told 

How  the  vault  of  heaven  rung 
When  Satan,  blasted,  fell  with  his  host  ; — 
While  this  with  reverence  meet. 
Ten  thousand  echoes  greet. 
From  rock  to  rock  repeat 
Round  our  coast ; — 

While  the  manners,  while  the  arts, 

That  mould  a  nation's  soul 
Still  cling  around  our  hearts — 
Between  let  ocean  roll, 
Our  joint  communion  breaking  with  the  Sun  : 
Yet  still  from  either  beach 
The  voice  of  blood  shall  reach. 
More  audible  than  speech, 
"We  are  one." 

Several  of  AUston's  sonnets  are  of  high  merit. 
Among  them  are : 

ON    THE    FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

The  earth  has  had  her  visitation.     Like  to  this 
She  hath  not  known,  save  when  the  mounting  waters 
Made  of  her  orb  one  universal  ocean. 
For  now  the  tree  that  grew  in  Paradise, 


37« 


WASHINGTON  ALLSTON 


That  deadl)^  tree  that  first  gave  Evil  motion, 

And  sent  its  poison  through  earth's  sons  and  daughters, 

Had  struck  again  its  root  in  every  land. 

And  now  its  fruit  was  ripe — about  to  fall — 

And  now  a  mighty  kingdom  raised  the  hand. 

To  pluck  and  eat.     Then  from  his  throne  stepped  forth 

The  King  of  Hell,  and  stood  upon  the  earth : 

But  not,  as  once,  upon  the  earth  to  crawl, 

A  nation's  congregated  form  he  took 

Till,  drunk  with  sin  and  blood,  earth  to  her  centre  shook. 

ON    ART, 

O  Art,  high  gift  of  Heaven  !  how  oft  defamed 
When  seeming  praised  !     To  most  a  craft  that  fits, 
By  dead  prescriptive  rule,  the  scattered  bits 
Of  gathered  knowledge  ;  even  so  misnamed 
By  some  who  would  invoke  thee ;  but  not  so 
By  him — the  noble  Tuscan — who  gave  birth 
To  forms  unseen  of  man,  unknown  to  earth, 
Now  living  habitants.     He  felt  the  glow 
Of  thy  revealing  touch,  that  brought  to  view 
The  invisible  idea;  and  he  knew. 
E'en  by  his  inward  sense,  its  form  was  true  : 
'Twas  life  to  life,  responding — the  highest  truth 
So  through  Elisha's  faith,  the  Hebrew  youth 
Beheld  the  thin  blue  air  to  fiery  chariots  grow. 

ON    THE    LATE    S.    T.    COLERIDGE. 

And  art  thou  gone,  most  loved,  most  honored  friend ! 

No,  never  more  thy  gentle  voice  shall  blend 

With  air  of  earth  its  pure  ideal  tones, 

Binding  in  one,  as  with  harmonious  zones, 

The  heart  and  intellect.     And  I  no  more 

Shall  with  thee  gaze  on  that  unfathomed  deep, 

The  human  soul ;  as  when,  pushed  off  the  shore, 

Thy  mystic  bark  would  through  the  darkness  sweep, 

Itself  the  while  so  bright !     For  oft  we  seemed 

As  on  some  starless  sea — all  dark  above, 

All  dark  below  ;  yet,  onward  as  we  drove, 

To  plough  up  light  that  ever  round  us  streamed. 

But  he  who  mourns  is  not  as  one  bereft 

Of  all  he  loved ;  thy  living  truths  are  left. 


WASHINGTON  A  LIST  ON  ITi 


ON    IMMORTALITY, 

To  think  for  aye ;  to  breathe  immortal  breath ; 
And  know  nor  hope,  nor  fear,  of  ending  death  ; 
To  see  the  myriad  worlds  that  round  us  roll 
Wax  old  and  perish,  while  the  steadfast  soul 
Stands  fresh  and  moveless  in  her  sphere  of  thought: 
O  God,  omnipotent !  who  in  me  wrought 
This  conscious  world,  whose  ever-growing  orb — 
When  the  dead  past  shall  all  in  time  absorb — 
Will  be  but  as  begun  :     Oh,  of  thine  own, 
Give  of  the  holy  light  that  veils  thy  throne. 
That  darkness  be  not  mine,  to  take  my  place 
Beyond  the  reach  of  light,  a  blot  in  space ! 
So  may  this  wondrous  life  from  sin  made  free 
Reflect  thy  Love  for  aye,  and  to  thy  glory  be. 


ALMQV  1ST,  Karl  Jonas  Ludwig,  a  Swedish 
novelist  and  writer,  born  at  Stockholm,  Novem- 
ber 28,  1793  ;  died  at  Bremen,  September  26,  1866. 
He  commenced  life  under  promising  circum- 
stances, but  being  of  a  restless  disposition,  he 
severed  his  connection  with  the  university,  resign- 
ing his  place  in  the  capital,  and,  with  a  number  of 
boon  companions,  settled  in  the  wilds  of  Werm- 
land;  but  his  visions  of  the  enjoyments  of  Scan- 
dinavian life  were  soon  dissipated,  and  he  dis- 
covered that  the  wielding  of  the  pen  was  more 
preferable  and  to  his  taste  than  guiding  a  plough, 
and  the  year  1829  found  him  once  more  a  resident 
of  Stockholm,  at  which  time  his  literary  career 
began.  Soon  after  he  set  out  upon  this  new  kind 
of  work,  and  after  writing  some  educational  books, 
he  published  his  great  novel.  The  Book  of  the 
Thorn-Rose,  which  brought  him  at  once  into  prom- 
inence. From  this  time  onward  his  progress  was 
remarkable.  Almqvist  was  equalled  by  few  writ- 
ers in  the  quantity  and  versatility  of  his  works. 
Among  his  more  noted  additions  to  the  modern 
literature  of  Sweden  are  his  writings  on  religious 
edification,  studies  in  lexicography  and  history, 
in  mathematics  and  philology  ;  his  treatises  on  phi- 
losophy, aesthetics,  morals,  politics,  and  education  ; 
lectures,  romances,  and  l}- rical,  epic,  and  dramatic 
poems.    Among  his  books  are  Gabriele,  Mimanso, 

(37S) 


KARL  JONAS  LUDWIG  ALMQVIST  379 

Amalie  Hillner,  Araininta  May,  Koliimbine,  Mar- 
jam.  His  dictioa  is  so  fine  that  the  first  place 
in  the  list  of  Swr.dish  writers  has  been  accorded 
him.  His  roviog  nature  le-d  him  to  resign  one 
profitable  posit'on  after  another,  and  he  was  at 
last  dependent  altogether  upon  what  his  literary 
and  journalistif;  labors  brought  him.  His  brilliant 
novels  and  pamphlets  grew  more  vehement  with 
his  expandin^^*  socialistic  notions,  which  caused  his 
friends  to  df-sert  him  and  his  enemies  to  rejoice 
in  their  victory  over  him  ;  but  the  criticism  of 
former  friend  and  foe  alike  ceased  in  185 1,  when 
they  learned  of  the  astounding  news  that  Alm- 
qvist  had  escaped  from  Sweden  in  order  to  avoid 
the  punishment  due  him  upon  his  being  convicted 
of  forgery,  and  the  crime  of  murder  being  laid  at 
his  door;  and  he  was  lost  to  view  for  a  consider- 
able period.  It  is  now  known,  however,  that  he 
took  up  his  abode  in  St,  Louis,  Mo.,  U.  S.  A. 
While  on  a  journey  to  Texas,  bandits  relieved  him 
of  all  his  manuscripts,  including  several  unprinted 
novels.  He  made  a  personal  appeal  to  President 
Lincoln,  to  whom  he  was  for  a  time  private  sec- 
retary, but  the  stolen,  and  to  him  valuable,  prop- 
erty vvits  never  recovered.  He  ended  his  strange 
career  one  year  after  his  return  to   Europe  in 

.  THE    BATTLE   OF    THE   LORD. 

God  draws  His  awful  weapon, 
To  smite  the  world  he  loves; 

But,  lo  !  the  world  is  worthy, 
For  she  his  image  proves  :— 


38o  KARL  JONAS  LUDWIG  ALMQVIST 

His  battle-lightning  striketh, 

And  lays  her  heart's  core  bare; 
But,  lo  !  that  heart  him  liketh  : 

It  grows  divinely  fair  ! 
Hail  !  war  of  God,  that  shakest  earth  .' 
Hail  !  peace  of  God,  thus  brought  to  birth  ! 
—  Translated  for  The  University  of  Literature. 

THE    DESERTED   CHURCH. 

Azouras  remained  within  the  church ;  and,  placing 
himself  beside  the  stairs  leading  to  the  organ-loft  ot 
this  once  famous  cloister  of  St.  Clara,  she  watched  the 
people  as  they  departed  one  by  one,  until,  herself  un- 
observed, she  heard  the  sexton  and  the  church-keepe; 
go  out ;  and  as  the  last  door  closed,  she  emerged  from 
her  place  of  concealment.  Here,  then,  was  our  Azoura^ 
shut  in  from  the  world  and  from  all  mankind,  alon?:  ii- 
this  great  building,  into  which  the  lavish  sun  was  pour- 
ing its  golden  light.  Ignorant  of  ecclesiastical  cus- 
toms, she  yet  remembered  indistinctly  the  religious  ser- 
vices to  which  she  had  accompanied  her  mother  long 
ago.  Walking  up  the  aisle,  a  strange,  sad  feeling  of 
loneliness^  and  an  apprehension  of  impending  danger, 
possessed  her  beating  heart ;  and  she  longed  for  the 
old  freedom  of  the  forest.  At  the  railing  of  the  altar 
she  was  about  to  kneel,  remembering  that  she  had  once 
seen  many  people  there  upon  their  knees  ;  but  then  it 
struck  her  that  the  decorated  cushions  were  not  for  her. 
On  the  bare  stones  of  the  floor  outside,  however,  she 
knelt  with  folded  hands.  But  now,  now  what  to  do,  or 
where  to  turn  ;  or  what  use  was  it  all  anyway  ?  She 
looked  everywhere,  for  something,  something  to  lean 
upon  ;  but  where,  where,  where  was  it  ?  She  prayed  to 
the  long,  straight  pipes  of  the  organ  ;  she  looked  be- 
seechingly to  the  empty  pulpit ;  then  to  the  pews  ;  but 
help  came  not.  She  remembered  that  she  had  once 
seen  a  couple  of  clericals  in  gowns  moving  around  inside 
the  railing  and  handing  out  something  to  the  kneelers  ; 
and  now  she  was  kneeling  on  the  stones,  and  nobody 
was  here  to  offer  her  anything,  whether  it  might  have 
been  for  good  or  for  nothing  at  all.     Azouras  wept. 


KARL  JO.VAS  LUDWIG  ALMQVIST  381 

Sti.l  kneeling,  she  looked  through  the  great  whidows  at 
the  noonday  sky  that  was  all  ablaze  with  light.  But  it 
was  light  only  ;  no  stars  ;  not  even  the  sun,  that  was 
hidden  behind  the  window  post.  Only  light ;  nothing  to 
rest  her  weary  eyes  upon.  She  looked  down  ;  a  tomb- 
stone was  beneath  her  knees ;  and  on  it  Swedish 
names,  and  all  well  known  to  her.  "  But,  oh  !  I  have 
no  name  !  My  many  names  have  all  been  borrowed. 
No  one  has  written  me  down  in  a  book  ;  and  none  says, 
Poor  Azouras  !  "  And  Azouras  wept  again.  And  then 
an  invisible  something  within  felt  sorry  for  the  poor 
visible  something  without,  and  echoed  :  "  Poor  Azouras 
Tintomara  !  "  And  then  Azouras  wept  bitterly.  "  God 
is  dead  ;  but  I  must  live  ;  for  I  am  a  woman."  And 
Azouras  wept  more  bitterly  still.  And  as  the  day  fled, 
and  the  vespers  struck,  the  bells  of  the  tower  rang  out 
their  solemn  peal.  Then  the  keys  of  the  door,  rattling 
in  the  lock,  warned  the  heathen  girl  to  hide  herself  in  her 
corner.  Ere  the  congregation  had  assembled,  Azouras, 
like  an  evanescent  cloud,  had  vanished  from  before 
the  altar.  And  as  she  stole  away  from  the  great  build- 
ing, and  came  out  into  the  churchyard,  and  left  by  the 
northern  gate,  there  mingled  with  the  receding  tones 
of  the  organ  a  harmony  of  soul  that  sang  of  happiness  ; 
and  in  the  fragrant  air  she  stood  a  radiant  being  of  joy 
and  hope.  Whether  because  that  Azouras  had  wept,  or 
that  the  unseen  Helper  had  scattered  the  fears  of  the 
heart  of  Azouras,  who  shall  say  ? — From  the  Tornrosem 
Bok^  Translated  for  The  University  of  Literature. 


■SiW^''%^'^  '' 


■i--J'^ 


•^^ 


MwmMimimix 


AMADIS  OF  Gaul  is  the  mythical  hero  of  one 
of  the  most  famous  of  the  mediaeval  romances  of 
chivalry.  The  romance  was  written  by  the  Por- 
tuguese Vasco  de  Lobeira,  who  died  in  1403.  The 
original  Portuguese  story  has  perished,  and  a 
Spanish  version  made  by  Montalvo,  nearly  a  cen- 
tury later,  is  practically  the  original  of  the  ro- 
mance as  we  have  it,  which  was  a  great  favorite 
in  its  day,  was  translated  into  many  languages, 
expanded  into  many  times  its  original  length, 
and  was  perhaps  the  best,  certainly  the  most  pop- 
ular, of  the  romances  of  chivalry.  Amadis,  in  the 
romance,  is  the  son  of  a  king  of  Gaul,  who  is  rep- 
resented to  have  lived  somewhere  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  Christian  era.  He  goes  through 
many  adventures  in  all  the  known  and  unknown 
world,  and  marries  Oriana,  daughter  of  Lisuarte, 
King  of  North  Britain.  One  of  the  most  charac- 
teristic and  most  pleasing  passages  in  this  ro- 
mance is  that  which  describes  the  early  loves  of 
Amadis  and  Oriana : 


AMADIS   AND   ORIANA. 

Now  Lisuarte  brought  with  him  to  Scotland  Brisena, 
his  wife,  and  a  daughter  that  he  had  by  her  when  he 
dwelt  in  Denmark,  named  Oriana,  about  ten  years  old, 
and  the  fairest  creature  that  ever  was  seen  ;  so  fair  that 
she  was  called  "Without  Peer,"  since  in  her  time  there 
was  none  equal  to  her.    And  because  she  suffered  much 


AMADIS   OF   GAUL  3^3 

from  the  sea,  he  consented  to  leave  her  there,  asking 
the  King  Laguines,  and  his  Queen,  that  they  would  take 
care  of  her.  And  they  were  very  glad  therewitli  ;  and 
the  Queen  said,  "  Trust  me  that  I  will  have  such  a  care 
of  her  as  a  mother  would." 

And  Lisuarte,  entering  into  his  ships,  made  haste 
back  into  Great  Britain,  and  found  there  some  who  had 
made  disturbances,  such  as  are  wont  to  be  in  such  cases. 
And  for  this  cause,  he  remembered  not  him  of  his 
daughter,  for  some  space  of  time.  But  at  last,  with 
much  toil  that  he  took,  he  obtained  his  kingdom  ;  and 
he  was  the  best  king  that  ever  was  before  his  time  ; 
nor  did  any  afterward  better  maintain  knighthood  in 
its  rights,  till  King  Arthur  reigned,  who  surpassed  all 
the  kings  before  him  in  goodness  ;  though  the  number 
that  reigned  between  these  two  was  great. 

And  now  Lisuarte  reigned  in  peace  and  quietness  in 
Great  Britain.  The  Child  of  the  Sea,  Amadis,  was 
twelve  years  old,  but  in  size  and  limbs  seemed  to  be 
fifteen.  He  served  before  the  Queen,  and  was  much 
loved  of  her,  as  he  was  of  all  the  ladles  and  damsels. 
But  as  soon  as  Oriana,  the  daughter  of  King  Lisuarte, 
came  there,  she  gave  to  her  the  Child  of  the  Sea,  that 
he  should  serve  her,  saying,  "  This  is  a  child  who  shall 
serve  you."  And  she  answered  that  it  pleased  her. 
And  the  child  kept  this  word  in  his  heart,  in  such  wise 
that  it  never  afterward  left  it ;  and,  as  this  history 
truly  says,  he  was  never,  in  all  the  days  of  his  life, 
wearied  with  serving  her.  And  this  their  love  lasted  as 
long  as  they  lasted.  But  the  Child  of  the  Sea,  who 
knew  not  at  all  how  she  loved  him,  held  himself  to  be 
very  bold,  in  that  he  had  placed  his  thoughts  on  her  ; 
considering  both  her  greatness  and  her  beauty,  and 
never  so  much  as  dared  to  speak  any  word  to  her  con- 
cerning it.  And  she,  though  she  loved  him  in  her  heart, 
took  heed  that  she  should  not  speak  with  him  more  than 
with  another.  But  her  eyes  took  great  solace  in  show- 
ing to  her  heart  what  thing  in  the  world  she  most 
loved. 

Thus  they  lived  silently  together,  neither  saying 
aught  to  the  other  of  this  estate.  Then  came,  at  last, 
the  time  when  the  Child  of  the  Se.a  understood  within 


384  AMADIS   OF  GAUL 

himself  that  he  might  take  arms,  if  any  there  were  that 
would  make  him  a  knight.  And  this  he  desired,  be- 
cause he  considered  that  he  should  thus  become  such  a 
man  and  should  do  such  things  as  that  either  he  should 
perish  in  them,  or,  if  he  lived,  that  then  his  lady  should 
deal  gently  with  him.. 

And  with  this  desire  he  went  to  the  King,  who  was  in 
his  garden,  and  kneeling  before  him,  said  :  "  Sire,  if  it 
please  you,  it  is  now  time  that  I  should  be  made  a 
knight,"  and  the  King  said,  "  How,  Child  of  the  Sea, 
do  you  already  adventure  to  maintain  knighthood  ? 
Know  that  it  is  a  light  matter  to  come  by  it,  but  a 
weighty  thing  to  maintain  it.  And  whoso  seeks  to  get 
this  name  of  knighthood  and  maintain  it  in  its  honor, 
he  hath  to  do  so  many  and  such  grievous  things  that 
often  his  heart  is  wearied  out ;  and  if  he  should  be  such 
a  knight  that,  from  faint-heartedness  or  cowardice,  he 
should  fail  to  do  what  is  beseeming,  then  it  would  be 
better  for  him  to  die  than  to  live  in  shame.  Therefore 
I  hold  it  good  that  you  wait  yet  a  little."  But  the 
Child  of  the  Sea  said  to  him  :  "  Neither  for  all  this  will 
I  fail  to  be  a  knight ;  for,  if  I  had  not  thought  to  fulfil 
this  that  you  have  said,  my  heart  would  not  so  have 
Striven  to  be  a  knight." — Translation  of  Ticknor. 


AMBROSE,  or  AMBROSIUS,  Saint,  a  father 
of  the  Latin  Church,  born  at  Treves,  Prussia, 
about  A.D.  340;  died  at  Milan.  Italy,  in  April,  394. 
He  studied  at  Rome,  and  about  369  he  was  sent 
as  Consular  Prefect  to  Upper  Italy.  Five  years 
later  he  was  elected  Bishop  of  Milan,  notwith- 
standing he  was  an  unbaptized  civilian.  He 
ably  espoused  the  cause  of  the  Catholics  against 
the  Arians  and  the  pagan  writers,  and  excom- 
municated the  Emperor  Theodosius  for  the  part 
he  had  taken  in  the  massacre  at  Thessalonica. 
Hodgkin,  in  his  Italy  and  Her  Invaders,  says  of 
Saint  Ambrose  :  "  He  was  elected,  while  still  an 
unbaptized  catechumen  and  governor  of  the 
province,  to  the  post  of  Bishop  of  Milan,  having 
entered  the  church  with  his  troops  to  quell  the 
fury  of  the  partisans  of  the  two  rival  candidates. 
While  he  soothed  the  people  with  his  wise  words, 
a  little  child,  so  the  story  runs,  suddenly  called 
out  '  Ambrose  is  Bishop  ; '  the  words  were  caught 
up  and  carried  round  the  church  by  the  rapturous 
acclamation  of  the  whole  multitude."  Concerning 
the  great  power  of  Ambrosius  with  the  people,  it 
has  been  said  :  "  Many  circumstances  in  his  his- 
tory are  strongly  characteristic  of  the  general 
spirit  of  the  times.  The  chief  causes  of  his  victory 
over  his  opponents  were  his  great  popularity  and 
the  superstitious  reverence  paid  to  the  episcopal 
Vol.  I.— 25  (^5> 


386  SAINT  AMBROSE 

character  at  that  period.  But  it  must  also  be 
noted  that  he  used  several  indirect  means  to 
obtain  and  support  his  authority  with  the  people. 
He  was  liberal  to  the  poor  ;  it  was  his  custom  to 
comment  severely  in  his  preaching  on  the  public 
characters  of  the  times;  and  he  introduced  popu- 
lar reforms  in  the  order  and  manner  of  public 
worship."  Speaking  of  a  number  of  stories  of 
miracles  wrought  in  behalf  of  Ambrosius,  Dr. 
Cave  says:  "I  make  no  doubt  but  God  suffered 
them  to  be  wrought  at  this  time  on  purpose  to 
confront  the  Arian  impieties."  Ambrosius  was  a 
voluminous  writer  in  defence  of  the  Catholic 
faith.  His  Hexaemeron  is  a  homiletical  treatise  on 
the  history  of  the  creation.  His  Hymns,  which 
have  exercised  a  powerful  influence  among  Chris- 
tians of  all  later  ages,  are  largely  devoted  to  the 
Trinity  and  to  the  divinity  oi  Christ.  Another  of 
his  works,  which  has  been  much  read  by  theolog- 
ical scholars,  is  De  Officiis  Ministroriim  ;  and  the 
"  Ambrosian  Ritual "  has  been  traditionally  as- 
cribed to  him. 

ON    THE   SIN    UNTO   DEATH. 

How  could  John  say  that  we  should  not  pray  for  the 
sin  unto  death,  who  himself  in  the  Apocalypse  wrote  the 
message  to  the  angel  of  the  church  of  Pergdmos  ? 
"Thou  hast  there  those  that  hold  the  doctrine  of  Ba- 
laam, who  taught  Balac  to  put  a  stumbling-block  before 
the  children  of  Israel,  to  eat  things  sacrificed  unto 
idols,  and  to  commit  fornification.  So  hast  thou  also 
them  that  hold  the  docti-ines  of  the  Nicolaitans.  Re- 
pent likewise,  or  else  I  will  come  to  thee  quickly."* 
Do  you  see  that  the  same  God  who  requires  repentance 

*  Rev.  ii.  14,  15,  16. 


SAINT  AMBROSE  3S7 

promises  forgiveness?  And  then  He  says  :  "He  that 
hath  ears  let  him  hear  what  the  spirit  saith  to  the 
churches  :  To  him  that  overcometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of 
the  hidden  manna."* 

Did  not  John  himself  know  that  Stephen  prayed  for 
his  persecutors,  who  had  not  been  able  even  to  listen  to 
the  Name  of  Christ,  when  he  said  of  those  very  men  by 
whom  he  was  being  stoned  :  "  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to 
their  charge  ?"f  And  we  see  the  result  of  this  prayer 
in  the  case  of  the  Apostle,  for  Paul,  who  kept  the  gar- 
ments of  those  who  were  stoning  Stephen,  not  long  after 
became  an  apostle  by  the  Grace  of  God,  having  before 
been  a  persecutor. —  Translated  by  De  Romestin. 

THE   STUDY    OF    THE   CREATION. 

It  is  not  by  the  nature  of  the  elements,  but  by  the 
nature  of  Christ,  who  hath  done  all  things  according  to 
His  will,  abounding  in  the  fulness  of  His  Godhead,  that 
we  are  to  order  our  thoughts  of  what  was  made,  and  our 
inquiries  into  that  which  nature  could  bring  about. 
Even  as  in  the  Gospel,  when  He  was  curing  the  leprous, 
and  pouring  light  anevv^  on  the  eyes  of  the  blind,  the 
people  present  and  beholding  His  works  acknowledged 
not  any  course  of  medical  cure,  but  in  admiration  of  the 
Lord's  power,  gave,  as  it  is  written,  glory  to  God.  Nor 
was  it  on  calculation  of  the  number  of  the  Egyptians, 
the  combinations  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  the  proportions 
of  the  elements,  that  Moses  stretched  forth  his  hand  to 
the  division  of  the  Red  Sea,  but  in  simple  obedience  to 
the  commandment  of  God's  power.  Whence  also  he 
saith  himself,  "  Thy  right  hand,  O  Lord,  hath  waxed  glo- 
rious in  power  :  Thy  right  hand,  O  Lord,  hath  dashed  in 
pieces  the  enemy."  That  way,  therefore,  that  way  do 
ye  lift  up  your  minds,  O  ye  who  form  this  holy  congre- 
gation ;  and  turn  your  whole  spirit  in  that  direction. 
God  seeth  not  as  man  seeth  :  God  looketh  on  the  heart, 
man  on  the  outward  appearance.  By  the  same  rule^ 
neither  doth  man  see  as  God  doth.  Thou  hearest  thaf 
God  saw  and  approved  :  far  be  it  then  to  judge  by  thing" 

*  Rev^.  li.  17.  f  Acts  vii.  6a 


"388  SAINT  AMBROSE 

eyes  of  the  things  which  He  made,  or  by  thine  own 
thoughts  to  argue  concerning  them;  rather,  what  God 
saw,  and  approved,  see  that  thou  account  not  those 
things  matter  of  free  discussion. — Translation  by  Keble. 

Saint  Ambrose  introduced  the  method  of  sing- 
ing or  chanting  known  as  the  "  Ambrosian  Chant." 

PRAYER   OF   SAINT   AMBROSE. 

Before  the  ending  of  the  day, 
Creator  of  the  world,  we  pray 
That  with  Thy  wonted  favor,  Thou 
Wouldst  be  our  guard  and  keeper  now. 
From  all  ill  dreams  defend  our  sight, 
From  fears  and  terrors  of  the  night ; 
Withhold  from  us  our  ghostly  foe, 
That  spot  of  sin  we  may  not  know. 
Our  Father,  that  we  ask  be  done, 
Through  Jesus  Christ,  Thine  only  Son  , 
Who,  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  Thee, 
Doth  live  and  reign  eternally. 

— N  bale's  Translation. 

AMBROSIAN    PASCHAL   HYMN. 

At  the  Lamb's  high  feast  we  sing 
Praise  to  our  victorious  King 
Who  hath  washed  us  in  the  tide 
Flowing  from  His  pierced  side  ; 
Praise  we  Him,  Whose  love  divine 
Gives  His  sacred  blood  for  wine, 
Gives  His  body  for  the  feast, 
Christ  the  victim,  Christ  the  priest. 
Where  the  Paschal  blood  is  poured, 
Death's  dark  angel  sheathes  his  sword; 
Israel's  hosts  triumphant  go 
Through  the  wave  that  drowns  the  foe. 
Praise  we  Christ,  Whose  blood  was  shed. 
Paschal  victim.  Paschal  bread  ; 
With  sincerity  and  love 
Eat  we  manna  from  above. 


SAINT  AMBROSE  3S0 

Mighty  victim  from  the  sky, 
Hell's  fierce  powers  beneath  Thee  He ; 
Thou  hast  conquered  in  the  fight, 
Thou  hast  brought  us  life  and  light; 
Now  no  more  can  death  appall. 
Now  no  more  the  grave  enthrall  ^ 
Thou  hast  opened  Paradise, 
And  in  Thee  Thy  saints  shall  rise. 

"^Translated  by  Thomas  Campbell 


AMES,  Fisher,  an  American  orator,  statesman, 
and  writer,  born  at  Dedham,  INIass.,  April  9, 
1758;  died  there,  July  4,  1808.  He  graduated 
at  Harvard  College  in  1774;  was  a  teacher  for  a 
short  time ;  studied  law ;  wrote  occasionally''  on 
political  topics  in  the  newspapers ;  was  chosen  as 
representative  to  the  State  Legislature  in  1788; 
and  in  the  following  year  was  elected  as  Repre- 
sentative in  the  first  Congress  convened  under  the 
new  Constitution.  He  retained  his  seat  through- 
out the  two  terms  of  the  administration  of  Wash- 
ington, whose  policy  received  his  earnest  support. 
His  most  notable  speech  in  Congress  was  deliv- 
ered April  28,  1796,  in  support  of  a  motion  "that 
it  is  expedient  to  pass  the  laws  necessary  to  carry 
into  effect  the  treaty  lately  concluded  between  the 
United  States  and  the  King  of  Great  Britain."  His 
health  had  by  this  time  become  greatly  impaired  ; 
and  in  the  opening  of  this  speech  he  said :  "  I  en- 
tertain the  hope — perhaps  a  rash  one — that  my 
strength  will  hold  me  out  to  speak  a  few  minutes." 
After  leaving  Congress  he  retired  to  his  farm  at 
Dedham,  still  however  writing  largely  upon  public 
affairs.  In  February,  1800,  at  the  request  of  the 
Legislature  of  Massachusetts,  he  delivered  a  Eu' 
logy  on  Washington,  and  in  1804  wrote  an  apprecia- 
tive Sketch  of  the  Character  of  Alexander  Hamilton, 
who  had  recently  been  killed  in  a  duel  with  Aai'on 

(390) 


FISHER  AMES  39^ 

Burr.  A  collection  of  the  Works  of  Fisher  Ames 
was  issued  in  1854  by  his  son.  It  comprises  a 
brief  memoir,  a  large  number  of  letters,  his  most 
important  speeches,  and  a  score  or  two  of  politi- 
cal, literary,  and  miscellaneous  essays.  The  es- 
say on  American  Literature,  written  early  in  the 
present  century,  does  not  present  a  very  flatter- 
ing picture  of  its  condition  and  prospects  at  that 
period. 

EARLY    AMERICAN   LITERATURE. 

Few  speculative  subjects  have  exercised  the  passions 
more,  or  the  judgment  less,  than  the  inquiry  what  rank 
our  country  is  to  maintain  in  the  world  for  genius  and 
Hterary  attainments.  It  might  indeed  occur  to  our  dis- 
cretion that,  as  the  only  admissible  proof  of  literary 
excellence  is  the  measure  of  its  effects,  our  national 
claims  ought  to  be  abandoned  as  worthless  the  moment 
they  are  found  to  need  asserting.  Nevertheless,  by  a 
proper  ipirit  and  constancy  in  praising  ourselves,  it 
seems  to  be  supposed,  the  doubtful  title  of  our  vanity 
may  be  quieted  in  the  same  manner  as  it  was  once  sup- 
posed the  currency  of  the  Continental  paper  could,  by 
a  universal  agreement,  be  established  at  par  with  specie. 
Yet  r^uch  was  the  unpatriotic  perverseness  of  our  citi- 
zen'*^ they  preferred  the  gold  and  silver,  for  no  better 
reason  than  because  the  paper  bills  were  not  so  good. 
And  now  it  may  happen  that,  from  spite  or  envy,  from 
want  of  attention  or  the  want  of  our  sort  of  informa- 
tion, foreigners  will  dispute  the  claims  of  our  pre-em- 
inence in  genius  and  literature,  notwithstanding  the 
great  convenience  and  satisfaction  we  should  find  in 
their  acquiescence.  As  the  world  will  judge  of  the 
matter  svith  none  of  our  partiality,  it  may  be  discreet 
to  an'.ii4pate  that  judgment,  and  to  explore  the  grounds 
upo.i  Thich  it  is  probable  the  aforesaid  world  will  frame 
it.  Aftd,  after  all,  we  should  suffer  more  pain  than 
los?  if  we  should  in  the  event  be  stripped  of  all  that 
doe-«  not  belong  to  us ;  and  especially  if,  by  a  better 


392  FISHER  AMES 

knowledge  of  ourselves,  we  should  gain  that  modesty 
which  is  the  first  evidence,  and  perhaps  the  last,  of  a 
real  improvement.  For  no  man  is  less  likely  to  increase 
his  knowledge  than  the  coxcomb,  who  fancies  he  has 
already  learned  it  out.  An  excessive  national  vanity — 
as  it  is  the  sign  of  mediocrity,  if  not  of  barbarism — is 
one  of  the  greatest  impediments  to  knowledge. 

It  will  be  useless  and  impertinent  to  say,  a  greater 
proportion  of  our  citizens  have  had  instruction  in  schools 
than  can  be  found  in  any  European  state.  It  may  be 
true  that  neither  France  nor  England  can  boast  of  so 
large  a  portion  of  their  population  who  can  read  and 
write,  and  who  are  versed  in  the  profitable  mystery  of 
the  Rule-of-Three.  This  is  not  the  footing  upon  which 
the  inquiry  is  to  proceed.  The  question  is  not,  what 
proportion  are  stone-blind,  or  how  many  can  see,  when 
the  sun  shines  ;  but  what  geniuses  have  arisen  among 
us,  like  the  sun  and  stars,  to  shed  life  and  splendor  on 
our  hemisphere. 

The  case  is  no  sooner  made,  than  all  the  fire-fly  tribe 
of  our  authors  perceive  their  little  lamps  to  go  out  of 
themselves,  like  the  flame  of  a  candle,  when  lowered 
into  the  mephitic  vapor  of  a  well.  Excepting  the 
writers  of  two  able  works  on  our  politics,  we  have  no 
authors.  To  enter  the  lists  in  single  combat  against 
Hector,  the  Greeks  did  not  offer  the  lots  to  the  name- 
less rabble  of  their  soldiery.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon 
Agamemnon  and  Ajax,  upon  Diomed  and  Ulysses. 
Shall  we  match  Joel  Barlow  against  Homer  or  Hesiod  ? 
Can  Thomas  Paine  contend  against  Plato  ?  Or  could 
Findley's  history  of  his  own  insurrection  vie  with 
Sallust's  narrative  of  Catiline's? 

There  is  no  scarcity  of  spelling-book  makers,  and 
authors  of  twelve-cent  pamphlets  ;  and  we  have  a  dis- 
tinguished few — a  sort  of  literary  nobility — whose 
works  have  grown  to  the  dignity  and  size  of  an  octavo 
volume.  We  have  many  writers  who  have  read,  and 
who  have  the  sense  to  understand  what  others  have 
written.  But  a  right  perception  of  the  genius  of  others 
is  not  genius.  Nobody  will  pretend  that  the  Americans 
are  a  stupid  race  ;  nobody  will  deny  that  we  justly 
boast  of  many  able  men,  and  exceedingly  useful  publi- 


FISHER  AMES  393 

cations.  But  has  our  country  produced  one  great  orig- 
inal work  of  genius  ?  If  we  tread  the  sides  of  Parnas- 
sus, we  do  not  climb  its  heights  ;  we  even  creep  in  our 
path,  by  the  light  that  European  genius  has  thrown 
upon  it.  Is  there  one  luminary  in  our  firmament  that 
shines  with  unborrowed  rays  ? 

Mr.  Ames  proceeds  in  this  essay  to  point  out 
what  he  regarded  as  the  probable  course  which 
American  literature  would  run.  His  political  bias 
here  crops  out  most  notably.  He  was  a  Federal- 
ist, and  the  Federal  party  had  suffered  defeat. 
The  Republicans  were  dominant,  and  Jefferson 
was  the  exponent  of  what  was  then  styled  "  Re- 
publicanism," what  we  now  style  "  Democracy," 
and  what  in  Fisher  Ames's  view  was  "  Dema- 
goguery;"  something  which,  in  his  judgment, 
was  utterly  opposed  to  anything  which  deserved 
the  name  of  literature.     He  says  : 

Surely  we  are  not  to  look  for  genius  among  dem- 
agogues ;  the  man  who  can  descend  so  low  has  sel- 
dom very  far  to  descend.  As  experience  evinces  that 
popularity — in  other  words,  consideration  and  power — 
is  to  be  procured  by  the  meanest  of  mankind — the 
meanest  in  spirit  and  understanding — and  in  the  worst 
of  ways,  it  is  obvious  that  at  present  the  excitement  to 
genius  is  next  to  nothing.  If  we  had  a  Pindar,  he 
would  be  ashamed  to  celebrate  our  chief,  and  would  be 
disgraced  if  he  did.  But  if  he  did  not,  his  genius  would 
not  obtain  his  election  for  a  selectman  in  a  Democratic 
town.  It  is  party  that  bestows  emolument,  power,  and 
consideration,  and  it  is  not  excellence  in  the  sciences 
that  obtains  the  suffrages  of  party. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  at  the  time  when 
this  was  written — about  1805— Thomas  Jefferson, 


394  FISHER  AMES 

then  President  of  the  United  States,  and  the  un- 
questioned chief  of  his  party,  was  the  best-cultured 
man  in  America,  and  there  were  few  for  whom, 
in  this  respect,  superiority  could  be  claimed  in 
Europe.  But  in  the  view  of  Fisher  Ames  he  was 
only  a  coarse,  vulgar  demagogue.  Mr.  Ames  goes 
on  to  put  forth  his  prognostications  as  to  the  fut- 
ure of  literature  in  America.    He  says: 

But  the  condition  of  the  United  States  is  changing. 
Luxury  is  sure  to  introduce  want,  and  the  great  inequali- 
ties between  the  very  rich  and  the  very  poor  will  be 
more  conspicuous,  and  comprehend  a  more  formidable 
host  of  the  latter.  Every  step  (and  we  have  taken  many) 
toward  a  more  complete,  unmixed  Democracy  is  an 
advance  toward  destruction.  Liberty  has  never  yet 
lasted  long  in  a  Democracy  ;  nor  has  it  ever  ended  in 
anything  better  than  Despotism.  With  the  change  in 
our  Government,  our  manners  and  sentiments  will 
change.  As  soon  as  our  Emperor  has  destroyed  his 
rivals,  and  established  order  in  his  army,  he  will  desire 
to  see  splendor  in  his  court,  and  to  occupy  his  subjects 
with  the  cultivation  of  the  sciences.  If  this  catastrophe 
of  our  public  liberty  should  be  miraculously  delayed  or 
prevented,  still  we  shall  change.  With  the  augmenta- 
tion of  wealth  there  will  be  an  increase  of  the  number 
who  may  choose  a  literary  leisure.  Literary  curiosity 
will  become  one  of  the  new  appetites  of  the  nation;  and, 
as  luxury  advances,  no  new  appetite  will  be  denied. 
After  some  ages  we  shall  have  many  poor,  and  a  few 
rich  ;  many  grossly  ignorant,  a  considerable  number 
learned,  and  a  few  eminently  learned.  Nature,  never 
prodigal  of  her  gifts,  will  produce  some  men  of  genius, 
who  will  be  admired  and  imitated. 

The  Eulogy  on  WasJiington  is  undoubtedly  the 
most  elaborately  prepared  of  all  the  writings 
of   Fisher   Ames.      A   few   sentences  must   here 


FISHER  AMES  395 

suffice  to  represent  some  of  its  prominent  char* 
acteristics: 

CHARACTER    OF   WASHINGTON. 

It  is  natural  that  the  gratitude  of  mankind  should  be 
drawn  to  their  benefactors.  A  number  of  these  have 
successively  arisen,  who  were  no  less  distinguished  for 
the  elevation  of  their  virtues  than  the  lustre  of  their 
talents.  But  for  their  country  and  the  whole  human 
race,  how  few  alas,  are  recorded  in  the  long  annals  of 
ages,  and  how  wide  the  intervals  of  time  and  space  that 
divide  them  !  In  all  this  dreary  length  of  way,  they  ap- 
pear like  five  or  six  light-houses  on  as  many  thousand 
miles  of  coast.  They  gleam  upon  the  surrounding 
darkness  with  an  unextinguishable  splendor,  like  stars 
seen  through  a  mist ;  but  they  are  seen  like  stars,  to 
cheer,  to  guide,  and  to  save.  Washington  is  now  added 
to  that  small  number.  By  commemorating  his  death  we 
are  called  this  day  to  yield  the  homage  that  is  due  to 
virtue  ;  to  confess  the  common  debt  of  mankind  as  well 
as  our  own  ;  and  to  pronounce  for  posterity,  now  dumb, 
that  eulogium  which  they  will  delight  to  echo  ten  ages 
hence,  when  we  are  dumb.     .     .     . 

A  lavish  and  undistinguishing  eulogium  is  not  praise, 
I  know  that  some  would  prefer  a  picture  drawn  to  the 
imagination.  They  would  have  our  Washington  repre- 
sented of  a  giant's  size,  and  in  the  character  of  a  hero 
of  romance.  Others  —  1  hope  but  few  —  v/ho  think 
meanly  of  human  nature,  will  deem  it  incredible  that 
even  Washington  should  think  with  as  much  dignity 
and  elevation  as  he  acted  ;  and  they  will  grovel  in  the 
search  for  mean  and  selfish  motives  that  could  incite  and 
sustain  him  to  devote  his  life  to  his  country.     .     .     . 

Our  nation,  like  its  great  leader,  had  only  to  take 
counsel  from  its  courage.  When  Washmgton  heard  the 
voice  of  his  country  in  distress,  his  obedience  was 
prompt,  and  though  his  sacrifices  were  great,  they  cost 
him  no  effort.  When  overmatched  by  numbers,  a 
fugitive,  with  a  little  band  of  faithful  soldiers — the 
States  as  much  exhausted  --s  dismayed,  he  explored  his 
own  undaunted  heart,  and  there  found  resources  to  re- 
trieve our  affairs.     We  have  seen  him  display  as  muck 


sgS  FISHER  AMES 

valor  as  gives  fame  to  heroes,  and  as  consummate  pru- 
dence as  insures  success  to  valor  ;  fearless  of  dangers 
that  were  personal  to  him,  hesitating  and  cautious 
when  they  affected  his  country  ;  preferring  fame  be- 
fore safety  or  repose,  and  duty  before  fame.  Rome  did 
not  owe  more  to  Fabius  than  America  to  Washington. 
Our  nation  shares  with  him  the  singular  glory  of  having 
conducted  a  civil  war  with  mildness,  and  a  revolution 
with  order.     .     .     . 

However  his  military  fame  may  excite  the  v/onder  of 
mankind,  it  is  chiefly  by  his  civil  magistracy  that  his 
example  will  instruct  them.  His  presidency  will  form 
an  epoch,  and  be  distinguished  as  "  The  Age  of  Wash- 
ington." Already  it  assumes  its  high  place  in  the  po- 
litical region.  Like  the  Milky-Way  it  whitens  along  its 
allotted  portion  of  the  hemisphere.  The  latest  genera- 
tions of  men  will  survey,  through  the  telescope  of  his- 
tory, the  space  where  so  many  virtues  blend  their  rays^ 
and  delight  to  separate  into  groups  and  distinct  virtues. 
— Eulogy  on  Washington. 

In  the  brief  sketch  of  Alexander  Hamilton,  the 
character  of  that  great  political  leader  is  thus 
summed  up : 

THE   CHARACTER  OF   HAMILTON. 

His  early  life  we  pass  over  ;  though  his  heroic  spirit 
in  the  army-  has  furnished  a  theme  that  is  dear  to 
patriotism  and  will  be  sacred  to  glory. — In  all  the  dif- 
ferent stations  in  which  a  life  of  active  usefulness  has 
placed  him,  we  find  him  not  more  remarkably  distin- 
guished by  the  extent  than  by  the  variety  and  versa- 
tility of  his  talents.  In  every  place  he  made  it  appar- 
ent that  no  other  man  could  have  filled  it  so  well ;  and 
in  times  of  critical  importance,  in  which  alone  he  de- 
sired employment,  his  services  were  justly  deemed  abso- 
lutely indispensable.  As  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
his  was  the  most  powerful  spirit  that  presided  over  the 
chaos.  Indeed,  in  organizing  the  Federal  Government 
in  1789,  every  man  of  either  sense  or  candor  will  allow, 
the  difficulty  seemed  greater  than  the  first-rate  abilities 


FISHER  AMES  397 

could  surmount.  He  surmounted  them  ;  and  Washing- 
ton's administration  was  the  most  wise  and  beneficent, 
the  most  prosperous,  and  ought  to  be  the  most  popular, 
that  ever  was  intrusted  with  the  affairs  of  a  nation. 
Great  as  was  Washington's  merit,  much  of  it  in  plan, 
much  in  execution,  will  of  course  devolve  upon  his 
Minister. 

As  a  lawyer,  Hamilton's  comprehensive  genius  reached 
the  principles  of  his  profession.  He  compassed  its  ex- 
tent, he  fathomed  its  profound,  perhaps  even  more 
familiarly  and  easily  than  the  ordinary  rules  of  its  prac- 
tice. With  most  men  law  is  a  trade  ;  with  him  it  was 
a  science. 

As  a  statesman  he  was  not  more  distinguished  by  the 
great  extent  of  his  views,  than  by  the  caution  with 
which  he  provided  against  impediments,  and  the  watch- 
fulness of  his  care  over  right  and  the  liberty  of  the  sub- 
ject. In  none  of  the  many  revenue  bills  which  he 
framed — though  Committees  reported  them — is  there  to 
be  found  a  single  clause  that  savors  of  despotic  power  ; 
not  one  that  the  sagest  champions  of  law  and  liberty 
would,  on  that  ground,  hesitate  to  approve  and  adopt. 

It  is  rare  that  a  man  who  owes  so  much  to  nature  de- 
scends to  seek  more  from  industry,  but  Hamilton  seemed 
to  depend  on  industry,  as  if  nature  had  done  nothing 
for  him.  His  habits  of  investigation  were  very  remark- 
able ;  his  mind  seemed  to  cling  to  a  subject  till  he  had 
exhausted  it.  Hence  the  uncommon  superiority  of 
his  reasoning  powers — a  superiority  that  seemed  to  be 
augmented  from  every  source,  and  to  be  fortified  by 
every  auxiliary — learning,  wit,  imagination,  and  elo- 
quence.    •     .     . 

Some  have  plausibly,  though  erroneously,  inferred, 
from  the  great  extent  of  his  abilities,  that  his  ambition 
was  inordinate.  This  is  a  mistake.  Such  men  as  have 
a  painful  consciousness  that  their  stations  happen  to 
be  far  more  exalted  than  their  talents,  are  generally 
the  most  ambitious.  Hamilton,  on  the  contrary,  though 
he  had  many  competitors,  had  no  rivals  ;  for  he  did  not 
thirst  for  power,  nor  would  he,  as  was  well  known,  de- 
scend to  office.  He  was  perfectly  content  and  at  ease 
in  private   life.     Of  what  was  he  ambitious?     Not  of 


398  FISHER  AMES 

wealth  ;  no  man  held  it  cheaper.  Was  it  of  popularity? 
That  weed  of  the  dunghill,  he  knew,  when  rankest,  was 
nearest  to  withering.  A  vulgar  ambition  could  as  little 
comprehend  as  satisfy  his  views.  He  thirsted  only  for 
that  fame  which  Virtue  would  not  blush  to  confer,  nor 
Time  to  convey  to  the  end  of  his  course. 

The  only  ordinary  distinction  to  which,  we  confess,  he 
did  aspire,  was  military  ;  and  for  that,  in  the  event  of  a 
foreign  war,  he  would  have  been  solicitous.  He  undoubt- 
edly discovered  the  predominance  of  a  soldier's  feelings; 
and  all  that  is  honor  in  the  character  of  a  soldier  was 
at  home  in  his  heart.  His  early  education  was  in  the 
camp ;  there  the  first  fervors  of  his  genius  were  poured 
forth,  and  his  earliest  and  most  cordial  friendships 
formed.  Those  who  knew  him  best,  and  especially  in 
the  army,  will  believe,  that  if  occasions  had  called  him 
forth,  he  was  qualified,  beyond  any  man  of  his  age,  to 
display  the  talents  of  a  great  general.  It  may  be  very 
long  before  our  country  will  want  such  military  talents; 
it  will  probably  be  much  longer  before  it  will  again 
possess  them. — Sketch  of  the  Character  of  Alexander 
Hamilton. 

The  political  writings  of  Fisher  Ames,  either 
in  the  form  of  private  letters  or  of  newspaper  ar- 
ticles, constitute  the  bulk  of  his  Works  as  put  forth 
by  his  son.  The  following  is  an  extract  from 
one  oi  these  newspaper  articles,  published  in  the 
summer  of  1804.  The  burden  of  this  and  many 
others  of  about  the  same  date  is  that  the  "  Jaco- 
bin "  administration  of  Jefferson  was  like  to  re- 
sult in  something  like  the  imperial  despotism  of 
Napoleon. 

THE    POLITICAL    OUTLOOK    IN    1804. 

Let  any  man  who  has  any  understanding,  exercise  it 
to  see  that  the  American  Jacobin  Party,  by  rousing  the 
popular  passions,  inevitably  augments  the    powers    of 


FISHER  AMES  399 

Government,  and  contracts  within  narrower  bounds, 
and  on  a  less  sound  foundation,  the  privileges  of  the 
people.  Facts — yes,  facts,  that  speak  in  terror  to  the 
soul — confirm  this  speculative  reasoning.  What  limits 
are  there  to  the  prerogatives  of  the  present  Adminis- 
tration? and  whose  business  is  it,  and  in  whose  power 
does  it  lie,  to  keep  them  within  those  limits?  Surely 
not  in  the  Senate :  the  small  States  are  now  in  vassal- 
age, and  they  obey  the  nod  of  Virginia.  Not  in  the 
Judiciary  :  that  fortress  which  the  Constitution  had 
made  too  strong  for  an  assault,  can  now  be  reduced  by 
famine.  The  Constitution :  alas !  that  sleeps  with 
Washington,  having  no  mourners  but  the  virtuous,  and 
no  monument  but  history.  Louisiana — in  open  and 
avowed  defiance  of  the  Constitution — is  by  treaty  to  be 
added  to  the  Union ;  fne  bread  of  the  children  of  the 
Union  is  to  be  taKen  and  given  to  the  dogs.  Judge 
then,  good  men  and  true — judge  by  the  effects — whether 
the  tendency  of  the  intrigues  of  the  party  was  to  ex- 
tend or  contract  the  measure  of  popular  liberty.  Judge 
whether  the  little  finger  of  Jefferson  is  not  thicker  than 
the  loins  of  Washington's  administration  ;  and  after  you 
have  judged,  and  felt  the  terror  that  will  be  inspired  by 
the  result,  then  reflect  how  little  your  efforts  can  avail 
to  prevent  the  continuance,  nay,  the  perpetuity  of 
power.  Reflect,  and  be  calm.  Patience  is  the  virtue  of 
slaves,  and  almost  the  only  one  that  will  pass  for  merit 
with  their  masters. — Political  Essays. 

"  As  a  speaker  and  as  a  w^riter,  Fisher  Ames  had 
the  power  to  enlighten  and  persuade,  to  move, 
to  please,  to  charm,  to  astonish.  He  united  these 
decorations  that  belong  to  fine  talents  to  that 
penetration  and  judgment  that  designate  an  acute 
and  solid  mind.  It  was  easy  and  delightful  for 
him  to  illustrate  by  a  picture,  but  painful  and 
laborious  to  prove  by  a  diagram." — Alonzo  Pottef. 


AMIEL,  Henri  Frederic,  a  Swiss  poet  and 
philosopher,  born  at  Geneva,  Switzerland,  Sep- 
tember 27,  1821  ;  died  there  May  11,  1881.  He 
was  descended  from  one  of  the  emigrant  fam- 
ilies that  left  Languedoc,  France,  after  the  revoca- 
tion of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  At  twelve  years  of 
age  he  was  left  an  orphan  and  passed  into  the  care 
of  a  relative.  He  was  educated  at  the  College  or 
Public  School  of  Geneva  and  at  the  Academy 
(University).  After  leaving  the  Academy  he 
studied  for  several  years  at  Heidelberg  and  Ber- 
lin, spending  his  vacations  during  this  time  in 
travel  in  Italy,  Sicily,  Scandinavia,  Holland,  and 
Germany. 

In  1849,  after  a  public  competition,  he  was  ap- 
pointed Professor  of  Esthetics  and  French  Liter- 
ature in  the  Academy  of  Geneva.  This  position 
he  held  for  four  years  and  then  exchanged  it  for 
the  Professorship  of  Moral  Philosophy.  During 
his  lifetime  he  published  only  a  few  essays  and 
several  small  volumes  of  poems,  which  was  a  dis- 
appointment to  his  friends.  But  after  his  death  it 
was  found  that  he  had  left  a  large  work,  a  private 
journal,  upon  which  he  had  been  engaged  for 
many  years,  noting  his  observations  and  medita- 
tions, and  it  is  upon  \\\\s  Journal  InttJiie  that  his 
reputation  as  a  writer  rests.  A  portion  of  it  was 
published  in  1882,  and  was  immediately  recognized 
as  a  great  work,  and  the  author  as  a  man  of  broad 


HENRI  FRED&RIC  AMIEL  401 

culture,  originality,  and  a  profound  thinker.  A 
second  volume  was  published  in  1884  which  in  no- 
wise lessened,  but  added  to  the  fame  of  the  author. 
His  works  are:  Grains  de  Mil  (1854);  //  Penseroso 
(1858);  La  Part  du  Rtfve  (1863);  Jour  dt  Jour  (1880), 
and  Joicrnal  Intime  (1882-84). 

December  30thy  1850. — Nothing  resembles  pride  so 
much  as  discouragement. 

To  repel  one's  cross  is  to  make  it  heavier. 

November  iSth,  18^1. — Kindness  is  the  principle  of 
tact,  and  respect  for  others  the  first  condition  of  savoir- 
vivre. 

He  who  is  silent  is  forgotten ;  he  who  abstains  is 
taken  at  his  word  ;  he  who  does  not  advance  falls  back  ; 
he  who  stops  is  overwhelmed,  distanced,  crushed ;  he 
who  ceases  to  grow  greater  becomes  smaller ;  he  who 
leaves  off  gives  up :  the  stationary  condition  is  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end — it  is  the  terrible  symptom  which 
precedes  death.  To  live  is  to  achieve  a  perpetual 
triumph :  it  is  to  assert  one's  self  against  destruction, 
against  sickness,  against  the  annulling  and  dispersion  of 
one's  physical  and  moral  being.  It  is  to  will  without 
ceasing,  or  rather  to  refresh  one's  will  day  by  day. 

November  loth,  i8j2. — How  much  have  we  not  to 
learn  from  the  Greeks — those  immortal  ancestors  of 
ours !  And  how  much  better  they  solved  their  problem 
than  we  have  solved  ours  !  Their  ideal  man  is  not  ours, 
but  they  understood  infinitely  better  than  we,  how  to 
reverence,  cultivate,  and  ennoble  the  man  whom  they 
knew.  In  a  thousand  respects  we  are  still  barbarians 
beside  them — as  Beranger  said  to  me  with  a  sigh  in  1843 
— barbarians  in  education,  in  eloquence,  in  public  life,  in 
poetry,  in  matters  of  art,  etc.  We  must  have  millions 
of  men,  in  order  to  produce  a  few  elect  spirits ;  a  thou- 
sand was  enough  in  Greece.  If  the  measure  of  a  civili- 
zation is  to  be  the  number  of  perfected  men  that  it  pro- 
duces, we  are  still  far  from  this  model  people.  The 
slaves  are  no  longer  below  us,  but  they  are  among  us. 
We  carry  within  us  much  greater  things  than  they,  but 
we  ourselves  are  smaller.  It  is  a  strange  result.  Ob- 
VOL.  I.— 26  _ 


402  HEiXRI  FR&DER/C  AMIEL 

jective  civilization  produced  great  men,  while  making 
no  conscious  effort  toward  such  a  result;  subjective 
civilization  produces  a  miserable  and  imperfect  race, 
contrary  to  its  mission  and  its  earnest  desire.  The 
world  grows  more  majestic,  but  man  diminishes.  Why 
is  this? 

We  have  too  much  barbarian  blood  in  our  veins,  and 
we  lack  measure,  harmony,  and  grace.  Christianity,  in 
breaking  man  up  into  outer  and  inner,  the  world  into 
earth  and  heaven,  hell  and  paradise,  has  discomposed 
the  human  unity,  in  order,  it  is  true,  to  reconstruct  it 
more  profoundly  and  more  truly.  But  Christianity  has 
not  yet  digested  this  powerful  leaven.  She  has  not  yet 
conquered  the  true  humanity,  she  is  still  living  under 
the  antinomy  of  sin  and  grace,  or  here  below  and  there 
above.  She  has  not  penetrated  into  the  whole  heart  of 
Jesus.  She  is  still  in  the  narthex  of  penitence,  she  is 
not  reconciled,  and  even  the  churches  still  wear  the 
livery  of  service,  and  have  none  of  the  joy  of  the 
daughters  of  God,  baptized  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

Then,  again,  there  is  our  excessive  division  of  labor ; 
our  bad  and  foolish  education,  which  does  not  develop 
the  whole  man  ;  and  the  problem  of  poverty.  We  have 
abolished  slavery,  but  without  having  solved  the  ques- 
tion of  labor.  In  law  there  are  no  more  slaves — in 
fact,  there  are  many.  And  while  the  majority  of  men 
are  not  free,  the  free  man,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term, 
can  neither  be  conceived,  nor  realized.  Here  are 
enough  causes  for  our  inferiority, 

October  2'jth^  iS^6. — To  judge  is  to  see  clearly,  to  care 
for  what  is  just,  and  therefore,  to  be  impartial — more 
exactly,  to  be  disinterested — more  exactly  still,  to  be 
impersonal. 

To  do  easily  what  is  difficult  for  others  is  the  mark 
of  talent.  To  do  what  is  impossible  for  talent  is  the 
mark  of  genius. 

Our  duty  is  to  be  useful,  not  according  to  our  desires, 
but  according  to  our  powers. 

The  man  who  insists  upon  seeing  with  perfect  clear- 
ness before  he  decides,  never  decides.  Accept  life,  and 
you  cannot  accept  regret. —  Journal  Intijtie.  Translation 
«2/"  Mrs.  Humphry  War^, 


AMORY,  Thomas,  a  British  novelist  and 
humorist,  born,  probably  in  Ireland,  in  1692  ;  died 
in  London,  November  25,  1789.  He  was  educated 
as  a  physician,  but  did  not  practise  as  such,  hav- 
ing inherited  a  considerable  estate  from  his  father, 
who  was  Secretary  of  the  Commission  for  Confis- 
cated Estates  in  Ireland.  He  wrote  several  works 
of  fiction,  the  principal  of  which  are  :  Memoirs  of 
Several  Ladies  of  Great  Britain^  and  The  Life  and 
Opinions  of  John  Buncle,  Esq.  He  appears  to 
have  portrayed  his  own  character  in  the  delinea- 
tion of  the  hero  of  this  last  work.  "  John  Buncle," 
says  Hazlitt,  "is  the  English  Rabelais.  The  soul 
of  Francis  Rabelais  passed  into  Thomas  Amory. 
Both  were  physicians,  and  enemies  of  too  much 
gravity.  Their  great  business  was  to  enjoy  life. 
Rabelais  indulges  his  spirit  of  sensuality  in  wine, 
in  dried  meats,  tongues,  in  Bologna  sausages,  in 
Botorgas.  John  Buncle  shows  the  same  symp- 
toms of  inordinate  satisfaction  in  bread-and-but- 
ter. While  Rabelais  roared  with  Friar  John  and 
the  monks,  John  Buncle  gossiped  with  the  ladies, 
etc." 

John  Buncle  had  seven  successive  wives.  The 
description  of  the  wives  is  ample  enough,  while 

(403) 


404  THOMAS  AMORY 

not  a  word  is  said  of  their  numerous  progeny. 
He  thus  explains  his  theory  upon  this  matter : 

bungle's  wives  and  children. 

I  think  it  unreasonable  and  impious  to  grieve  im- 
moderately for  the  dead.  A  decent  and  proper  tribute 
of  tears  and  sorrow  humanity  requires ;  but  when  that 
duty  has  been  paid,  we  must  remember  that  to  lament  a 
dead  woman  is  not  to  lament  a  wife.  A  wife  must  b 
a  living  woman.  .  .  .  As  I  mention  nothing  of  my 
children  by  so  many  wives,  some  readers  may  perhaps 
wonder  at  this  ;  and,  therefore — to  give  a  general  an- 
swer once  for  all — I  think  it  sufficient  to  observe,  that  I 
had  a  great  many  to  carry  on  the  succession;  but  as  they 
never  were  concerned  in  any  extraordinary  affairs,  nor 
ever  did  any  remarkable  things,  that  I  ever  heard  of — 
only  rise  and  breakfast,  read  and  saunter,  drink  and 
eat — it  would  not  be  fair,  in  my  opinion,  to  make  any- 
one pay  for  their  history. 

And  so,  instead  of  telling  about  his  children, 
John  Buncle  gives  profound  dissertations  upon 
the  origin  of  earthquakes,  on  muscular  motion, 
upon  phlogiston  and  fluxions,  upon  the  Athana- 
sian  Creed,  and  a  score  or  two  alike  related  topics. 
Bulwer-Lytton's  "  Caxton "  novels  are  in  many 
points  near  kindred  with  Amory's  Life  and  Opin- 
ions of  John  Buncle.  Among  the  quiet  passages 
of  this  work  is  John  Buncle's  account  of  his  first 
meeting  with  Marinda  Bruce — the  first  of  his  seven 
duly  lamented  wives: 

BUNCLE   AND    MARINDA. 

In  the  year  1739  ^  travelled  many  hundred  miles  to 
visit  ancient  monuments  and  discover  curious  things  ; 
and  as  I  wandered,  to  this  purpose  among  the  vast  hills 
of  Northumberland,  fortune  conducted  me  one  evening, 
in  the  month  of  June,  when  I  knew  not  where  to  rest, 


THOMAS  AMORY  405 

to  the  sweetest  retirement  my  eyes  have  ever  beheld. 
This  is  Hali-farm.  It  is  a  beautiful  vale  surrounded 
with  rocks,  forest,  and  water.  I  found  at  the  upper 
end  of  it  the  prettiest  thatched  house  in  the  world,  and 
a  garden  of  the  most  artful  confusion  I  had  ever  seen. 
The  little  mansion  was  covered  on  every  side  with  the 
finest  flowery  greens.  The  streams  all  round  were  mur- 
munng  and  falling  a  thousand  ways.  All  the  kind  of 
singing-birds  were  here  collected,  and  in  high  harmony 
on  the  sprays.  The  ruins  of  an  abbey  enhance  the 
beauties  of  this  place ;  they  appear  at  the  distance  of 
four  hundred  yards  from  the  house  ;  and  as  some  great 
trees  are  now  grown  up  among  the  remains,  and  a  river 
winds  between  the  broken  walls,  the  view  is  solemn,  the 
picture  fine. 

When  I  came  up  to  the  house,  the  first  figure  I  saw 
was  the  lady  whose  story  I  am  going  to  relate.  She 
had  the  charms  of  an  angel,  but  her  dress  was  quite 
plain  and  clean  as  a  country-maid.  Her  person  appeared 
faultless,  and  of  the  middle  size,  between  the  disagree- 
able extremes  ;  her  face,  a  sweet  oval,  and  her  complex- 
ion the  brunette  of  the  bright  rich  kind  ;  her  mouth, 
like  a  rosebud  that  is  just  beginning  to  blow  ;  and  a 
fugitive  dimple,  by  fits,  would  lighten  and  disappear. 
The  finest  passions  were  always  passing  in  her  face  ; 
and  in  her  long,  even,  chestnut  eyes,  there  was  a  fluid 
fire,  sufficient  for  half-a-dozen  pair. 

She  had  a  volume  of  Shakespeare  in  her  hand  as  I 
came  softly  toward  her,  having  left  my  horse  at  a  dis- 
tance with  my  servant ;  and  her  attention  was  so  much 
engaged  with  the  extremely  poetical  and  fine  lines 
which  Titania  speaks  in  the  third  act  of  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream,  that  she  did  not  see  me  till  I  was  quite 
near  her.  She  seemed  then  in  great  amazement.  She 
could  not  be  much  more  surprised  if  I  had  dropped 
from  the  clouds.  But  this  was  soon  over,  upon  my  ask- 
ing her  if  she  was  not  the  daughter  of  Mr.  John  Bruce, 
as  I  supposed  from  a  similitude  of  faces,  and  informing 
her  that  her  father,  if  I  was  right,  was  my  near  friend, 
and  would  be  glad  to  see  his  chum  in  that  part  of  the 
world.  Marinda  replied  :  "You  are  not  wrong,"  and 
immediately  asked  me  in.     She  conducted  me  to  a  par- 


4o6  THOMAS  AMORY 

lor  that  was  quite  beautiful  in  the  rural  way,  and  wel- 
comed me  to  Hali-farm,  as  her  father  would  have  done, 
she  said,  had  I  arrived  before  his  removal  to  a  better 
world.  She  then  left  me  for  a  while,  and  I  had  time  to 
look  over  the  room  I  was  in.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  rushes  wrought  into  the  prettiest  mat,  and  the 
walls  decorated  all  round  with  the  finest  flowers  and 
shells.  Robins  and  nightingales,  the  finch  and  the 
linnet,  were  in  the  neatest  reed  cages  of  her  own  mak- 
ing, and  at  the  upper  end  of  the  chamber,  in  a  charming 
little  open  grotto,  was  the  finest  strix  capite  aurito,  cor- 
pore  riifo,  that  I  have  seen,  that  is  the  great  eagle  owl. 
This  beautiful  bird,  in  a  niche  like  a  ruin,  looked  vastly 
fine.  As  to  the  flowers  which  adorned  this  room,  I 
thought  they  were  all  natural  at  my  first  coming  in  ;  but 
on  inspection,  it  appeared  that  several  baskets  of  the 
finest  kinds  were  inimitably  painted  on  the  walls  by 
Marinda's  hand. 

These  things  afforded  me  a  pleasing  entertainment 
for  about  half  an  hour,  and  then  Miss  Bruce  returned. 
One  of  the  maids  brought  in  a  supper — such  fare,  she 
said,  as  her  little  cottage  afforded  ;  and  the  table  was 
covered  with  green  peas  and  pigeons,  cream-cheese,  new 
bread  and  butter.  Everything  was  excellent  in  its  kind. 
The  cider  and  ale  were  admirable.  Discretion  and  dig- 
nity appeared  in  Marinda's  behavior  ;  she  talked  with 
judgment;  and  under  the  decencies  of  ignorance  was 
concealed  a  valuable  knowledge. — Life  and  Opinions  of 
John  B uncle. 


ANACREON,  a  Greek  lyric  poet,  born  in  the 
Ionian  town  of  Teos  in  Asia  Minor  about  563 
B.C.;  died  in  the  neig-hboring  town  of  Abdera 
about  478  B.C.  Of  the  events  of  his  life  very  little 
is  positively  known,  though  legends  of  question- 
able authority  relate  many  incidents ;  such  as  that 
he  was  invited  to  the  island  of  Samos  to  instruct 
Polycrates,  the  son  of  the  ruler  of  the  island,  in 
music;  that  he  rose  high  in  the  favor  of  his  pupil 
when  he  became  ruler  of  the  island  ;  that  after 
the  overthrow  of  Polycrates,  Anacreon  was  in- 
vited to  Athens  by  Hipparchus,  the  son  of  Pisis- 
tratus,  after  whose  assassination  he  repaired  to 
Larissa,  in  Thessaly,  which  was  then  ruled  by 
Echecratidas,  sprung  from  an  Ionian  family  ;  and 
that  in  his  old  age  he  returned  to  his  native  coun- 
try, where  he  died  in  his  eighty-fifth  year,  having 
been  choked  by  attempting  to  swallow  a  cherry- 
pit  or,  according  to  others,  a  dried  grape.  His 
writings,  consisting  of  odes,  epigrams,  elegies, 
iambics,  and  hymns,  were  numerous.  At  the  time 
of  Suidas  (eleventh  century  a.d.),  it  is  said  that 
five  books  of  these  poems  were  still  extant.  Since 
then  all  of  these  have  perished  except  about  sixty 
short  odes  and  a  few  fragments,  and  even  the 
genuineness  of  these  odes  has  been  warmly  dis- 
puted by  recent  German  critics,  who  maintain 
that  their  versification  shows  that  they  belong  to 
a  period  some  centuries  later  than  the  time  of 


4o8  A  NACRE  ON 

Anacreon.  The  citizens  of  Teos  certainly  held 
the  memory  of  Anacreon  in  high  esteem.  They 
placed  his  effigy  upon  their  coins,  some  of  which 
are  now  extant.  These  indeed  represent  a  very 
different  man  from  what  one  would  expect  the 
writer  of  the  existing  Anacreontics  to  have  been. 
The  face  is  coarse  and  brutal — almost  Silenus-like. 
In  Athens  also  a  statue  was  erected  in  his  honor, 
representing  him  as  a  drunken  singer.  The  An- 
acreontic Odes  which  are  now  extant,  whether 
written  by  the  Teian  bard  or  not,  are  among  the 
most  graceful  remains  of  Greek  poetry.  They 
are,  indeed,  for  the  most  part  amatory  or  conviv- 
ial, but  they  are  wonderfully  free  from  all  taint 
of  grossness  or  sensuality.  The  love-poems  might 
be  recited  in  the  most  modest  household,  and  the 
drinking-songs  sung  at  the  most  decorous  ban- 
quet. The  merit  of  these  poems,  indeed,  lies  in 
the  manner  rather  than  in  the  matter.  There  are 
few  poems  which  can  be  less  adequately  repre- 
sented by  translation  into  any  modern  language. 
The  best  translations  into  English  are  those  of 
George  Bourne  and  Thomas  Moore.  Bourne, 
though  amplifying  somewhat,  keeps  pretty  close 
to  the  text,  while  Moore's  version,  though  the 
tone  is  fairly  preserved,  is  rather  a  paraphrase 
than  a  translation.  We  give  specimens  of  both  of 
these  translators : 

ON    HIS   LYRE. 

While  I  sweep  the  sounding  string, 
While  the  Atridae's  praise  I  sing — 
Victors  on  the  Trojan  plain — 
Or  to  Cadmus  raise  the  strain, 


AJSrACREON  409 

Kark,  in  soft  and  whispered  sighs, 
Love's  sweet  notes  the  shell  replies. 

Late  I  strung  my  harp  anew, 
Changed  the  strings — the  subject  X.OQ, 
Loud  I  sung  Alcides'  toils  ; 
Still  the  lyre  my  labor  foils  ; 
Still  with  love's  sweet  silver  sounds 
Every  martial  theme  confounds. 
Farewell,  heroes,  chiefs,  and  kings ! 
Naught  but  love  will  suit  my  strings. 

—  Translation  of  BotrRit*. 

THE   WEAPON    OF   BEAUTY. 

Pointed  horns — the  dread  of  foes- 
Nature  on  the  bull  bestows  ; 
Horny  hoofs  the  horse  defend  ; 
Swift-winged  feet  the  hare  befriend  j 
Lions'  gaping  jaws  disclose 
Dreadful  teeth  in  grinning  rows; 
Wings  to  birds  her  care  supplied  ; 
Finny  fishes  swim  the  tide  ; 
Nobler  gifts  to  man  assigned, 
Courage  firm,  and  strength  of  mind. 

From  her  then  exhausted  store 
Naught  for  woman  has  she  more  ? 
Hov/  does  nature  prove  her  care  ?— 
Beauty's  charm  is  woman's  share. 
Stronger  far  than  warrior's  dress 
Is  her  helpless  loveliness. 
Safety  smiles  in  beauty's  eyes  ; 
She  the  hostile  flame  defies ; 
Fiercest  swords  submissive  fall :— - 
Lovely  woman  conquers  all. 

—  Translation  of  BouRNE 

CUPID  AS  A  GUEST. 

Twas  at  the  solemn  midnight  hour, 
When  silence  reigns  wit'^v.a\:,''ul  power, 
Just  when  the  bright  am -^glittering  bear 
Is  yielding  to  her  keeper's  care, 


4IO  ANACREON 

When  spent  with  toil,  with  care  opprest, 
Man's  busy  race  has  sunk  to  rest, 
Sly  Cupid,  sent  by  cruel  Fate, 
Stood  loudly  knocking  at  my  gate. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  I  cried,  "  at  this  late  hour  ? 
Who  is  it  batters  at  my  door? 
Begone  !  you  break  my  blissful  dreams  !  " — 
But  he,  on  mischief  bent,  it  seems. 
With  feeble  voice  and  piteous  cries, 
In  childish  accents  thus  replies  : 

"  Be  not  alarmed,  kind  Sir;  'tis  I, 
A  little,  wretched,  wandering  boy, 
Pray  ope  the  door,  I've  lost  my  way 
This  moonless  night,  alone  I  stray  ; 
I'm  stiff  with  cold  ;  I'm  drenched  all  o'er; 
For  pity's  sake,  pray,  ope  the  door  !  " 

Touched  with  this  simple  tale  of  woe, 
And  little  dreaming  of  a  foe, 
I  rose,  lit  up  my  lamp,  and  straight 
Undid  the  fastenings  of  the  gate  ; 
And  there,  indeed,  a  boy  I  spied, 
With  bow  and  quiver  by  his  side. 
Wings  too  he  wore — a  strange  attire  ! 
My  guest  I  seated  near  the  f''"e, 
And  while  the  blazing  fagots  shine, 
I  chafed  his  little  hands  in  mine  ; 
His  damp  and  dripping  locks  I  wrung, 
That  down  his  shoulders  loosely  hung. 

Soon  as  his  cheeks  began  to  glow, 
**  Come  now  ; "  he  cries,  "  let's  try  this  bow 
For  much  I  fear  this  rainy  night, 
The  wet  and  damp  have  spoiled  it  quite." — 

That  instant  twanged  the  sounding  string, 
Loud  as  the  whizzing  gad-fly's  wing. — 
Too  truly  aimed,  the  fatal  dart 
My  bosom  pierced  with  painful  smart. — 
Up  sprang  the  boy  with  laughing  eyes. 
And,  "  Wish  me  joy,  mine  host !  "  he  cries  ; 
"  My  bow  is  sound  in  every  part ; 
Thou'lt  find  the  anroy  in  thy  heart !  " 

■"     — T/\u!s!afion  o/BovtCiiS^. 


A  NACRE  ON  411 

The  poet — be  he  the  Teian  Anacreon  or  some 
singer  otherwise  unknown  and  unnamed — gives 
to  "the  best  of  life-painters"  some  hints  as  to 
the  picture  which  should  be  made  of  the  lady  of 
his  heart.  It  is  a  pretty  bit  of  word-painting — 
far  prettier  in  the  original  than  in  the  best  trans- 
lations. Moore  comes  nearest  to  reproducing  it 
i'*  our  language : 

THE   IDEAL   PORTRAIT. 

Thou  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues, 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse  ; 
Best  of  painters,  come  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that's  far  away. 
Far  away,  my  soul,  thou  art, 
But  I've  thy  beauties  all  by  heart.— 

Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  straying, 
Silky  twine  in  tendrils  playing ; 
And,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 
To  make  the  balmy  spice  distil, 
Let  every  little  lock  exhale 
A  sigh  of  perfume  on  the  gale. 

Where  her  tresses'  curly  flow 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  light, 
Burnished  as  the  ivory  bright. 
Let  her  eyebrows  sweetly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes. 
Gently  in  a  crescent  gliding. 
Just  commingling,  just  dividing. 

But  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form  ? — 
Let  them  effuse  the  azure  ray 
With  which  Minerva's  glances  play  ^ 
And  give  them  all  that  liquid  fire 
That  Venus'  languid  eyes  respire. 

O'er  her  nose  and  cheek  be  shed 
Flushing  white  and  mellowed  red  ; 
Gradual  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose. 


412  A  NACRE  ON 

Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  bhsses ; 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses  ; 
Pouting  nest  of  bland  persuasion, 
Ripely  suing  love's  invasion  ! 

Then,  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 
Whose  dimple  shades  a  love  within, 
Mould  her  neck,  with  grace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending  ; 
While  airy  charms,  above,  below, 
Sport  and  flutter  on  its  snow. 

Now  let  a  floating  lucid  veil 
Shadow  her  limbs,  but  not  conceal. 
A  charm  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam ; 
And  leave  the  rest  to  fancy's  dream. — 
Enough — 'tis  she  !  'tis  all  I  seek  ; 
It  glows,  it  lives,  it  soon  will  speak  ! 

—  Translation  of  MoORE, 

The  Anacreontic  convivial  songs  would  have 
been  regarded  as  very  tame  in  later  days  of  hard 
drinking.  There  is  only  one  of  them  in  which 
there  is  anything  which  inculcates  more  than  an 
altogether  moderate  indulgence  in  the  wine-cup: 

IN   PRAISE   OF   WINE. 

When  the  nectar'd  bowl  I  drain. 

Gloomy  cares  forego  their  reign ; 

Richer  than  the  Lydian  king 

Hymns  of  love  and  joy  I  sing ; 

Ivy  wreaths  my  temples  twine 

And  while  careless  I  recline, 

While  bright  scenes  my  vision  greet 

Tread  the  world  beneath  my  feet. 

Fill  the  cup,  my  trusty  page  ; 

Anacreon,  the  blithe  and  sage, 

As  his  maxim  ever  said, 

"  Those  slain  by  wine  are  nobly  dead. ' 

—  Translation  of  BouRNE. 


A  NACRE  ON  4x3 


PLEA   FOR   DRINKING. 

The  earth  drinks  up  the  genial  rains. 
Which  deluge  all  her  thirsty  plains ; 
The  lofty  trees  that  pierce  the  sky 
Drink  up  the  earth  and  leave  her  dry ; 
The  insatiate  sea  imbibes  each  hour 
The  welcome  breeze  that  brings  the  showtT  • 
The  sun,  whose  fires  so  fiercely  burn, 
Absorbs  the  waves,  and  in  her  turn 
The  modest  moon  enjoys  each  night 
Large  draughts  of  his  celestial  light. 
Then,  sapient  sirs,  pray  tell  me  why, 
If  all  things  drink,  why  may  not  I  ? 

— Translation  of  BoURlP;^ 

MODERATION    IN    WINE. 

Haste !  haste  thee,  boy,  and  bring  the  bowl. 

To  quench  the  fever  of  the  soul. 

The  copious  stream  with  skill  combine  ; 

Add  ten  parts  water,  five  of  wine. 

The  copious  draught  will  thirst  assuage, 

Nor  in  the  breast  too  fiercely  rage. 

O  cease,  my  friends,  for  shame  give  o'er 
These  clamorous  shouts,  that  deafening  roai. 
This  Scythian  scene  all  peace  destroys  ; 
Turns  joy  to  madness,  mirth  to  noise  ; 
Let  cheerful  temperance  rule  the  soul — 
The  best  ingredient  in  the  bowl. 

—  Translation  of  BouRNE. 

Some  of  the  most  pleasing  of  these  odes  ciie 
inspired  by  the  various  aspects  of  nature,  ani- 
mate and  inanimate. 

UPON   SPRING. 

See  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  the  breeze  her  spangled  wing; 
While  virgin  graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way  1 


414  ANACREON 

The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languished  into  silent  sleep ; 
And  mark  !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave, 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kindred  sky. 

Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away. 
And  cultured  field  and  winding  stream 
Are  sweetly  tissued  by  his  beam. 

Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  leafy  buds  and  flowery  bells; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine, 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  the  vine ; 
All  along  the  branches  creeping, 
Through  the  velvet  foliage  peeping, 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see, 
Nursing  into  luxury. 

—  Translation  of  MooRE. 

TO   THE   CICADA. 

O  thou,  of  all  creation  blest, 
Sweet  insect !  that  delight'st  to  rest 
Upon  the  wild  w'ood's  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  morning  drops. 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee  ! 

Whatever  decks  the  velvet  field, 
Whate'er  the  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  buds,  whatever  blows, 
For  thee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  grows. 
Nor  art  thou  yet  the  peasant's  fear. 
To  him  thy  friendly  notes  are  dear. 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew. 
And  still,  when  Summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain, 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  ; 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear. 
And  bless  the  notes,  and  thee  revere. 
The  muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone ; 
Apollo  calls  thee  for  his  owr- ; 


A  NACRE  ON'  41" 

'Twas  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  thee  ; 
'Tis  he  that  tunes  thy  minstrelsy. 

Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline, 
The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  are  thine. 
Melodious  insect  !  child  of  earth  ! 
In  wisdom  mirthful,  wise  in  mirth  ; 
Exempt  from  every  weak  decay 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  away, 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  purer  vein  ; 
So  blest  an  age  is  passed  by  thee. 
Thou  seem'st  a  little  deity, 

—  Translation  of  MooRE. 

TO    THE    SWALLOW. 

Once  in  each  revolving  year, 
Gentle  bird  !  we  find  thee  here. 
When  nature  wears  her  Summer  vest, 
Thou  comest  to  weave  thy  simple  nest ; 
But  when  the  chilling  Winter  lowers. 
Again  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
Of  Memphis  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  of  verdure  smile. 
And  thus  thy  wing  of  freedom  roves, 
Alas  !  unlike  the  plumed  loves 
That  linger  in  this  hapless  breast, 
And  never,  never,  change  their  nest ! 

Still,  every  year,  and  all  the  year 
A  flight  of  loves  engenders  here  ; 
And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 
And  on  a  tender  winglet  fly  ; 
While  in  the  shell,  impregned  with  fires, 
Cluster  a  thousand  more  desires  ; 
Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping. 
And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping. 

My  bosom,  like  the  vernal  groves. 
Resounds  v/ith  little  warbling  loves  ; 
One  urchin  imps  the  other's  feather, 
Then  twin  desires,  they  wing  together, 
And  still,  as  they  have  learned  to  soar, 
The  wanton  babies  teem  with  more. 

—  Translation  of  Moore. 


4l6  A  NACRE  ON 

Anacreon — if  we  may  assume  these  odes  to  be 
the  production  of  the  Teian  poet — seems  to  have 
passed  into  a  genial  old  age,  at  times  making 
light  of  the  inroads  of  age,  but  at  other  times 
looking  back  regretfully  upon  his  vanished  youth 
and  forebodingly  toward  the  unknown  future. 

APPROACHING    AGE. 

"  Anacreon,"  the  women  say, 

"  Old  fellow,  you  have  had  your  day ; 

Consult  your  mirror,  mark  with  care 

How  scanty  now  your  silver  hair  ; 

Old  wintry  Time  has  shed  his  snows, 

And  bald  and  bare  your  forehead  shows !  "— - 

But,  faith,  I  know  not  where  they've  gone, 

Or  if  I've  any  left,  or  none  ; 

But  this  I  know,  that  every  day, 

Shall  see  me  sportive,  blithe,  and  gay  j 

For  'tis  our  wisdom  so  to  do. 

The  nearer  Death  appears  in  view. 

—  Translation  of  BoURNE. 

LIVE    WHILE    WE    LIVE. 

Could  glittering  heaps  of  golden  ore 

Life  preserve  or  health  restore, 

Then,  with  ceaseless,  anxious  pain, 

Riches  would  I  strive  to  gain. 

That,  should  Death  unwished  for  come. 

Pointing  to  the  dreary  tomb, 

I  might  cry,  in  sprightly  tone, 

"  Here's  my  ransom,  Death,  begone  V 

But  alas,  since  well  I  know 
Life  cannot  be  purchased  so, 
Why  indulge  the  useless  sigh  ? 
Fate  decrees  that  all  shall  die. 
Vainly  to  our  wealth  we  trust. 
Poor  or  wealthy — die  we  must. — 
Present  joys  then  let  me  share, 
Rosy  wine  to  banish  care  ; 


ANACRSOiY 


417 


Cheerful  friends  that  faithful  prove, 
Beauty's  smile,  and  blissful  love. 

— Translation  of  BouRNE. 

LOOKING  BACKWARD  AND  FORWARD. 

Alas  !  my  youth,  my  joys  have  fled, 

The  snows  of  age  have  bleached  my  head  ; 

Tedious,  toothless,  trembling  age. 

Must  now  alone  my  thoughts  engage. 

Adieu,  ye  joys  which  once  I  knew. 

To  life,  to  love,  to  all,  adieu  ! — 

Henceforth,  unhappy  !  doomed  to  know 

Tormenting  fears  of  future  woe  ! 

Oh,  how  my  soul  with  terror  shrinks, 

Whene'er  my  startled  fancy  thinks 

Of  Pluto's  dark  and  gloomy  cave, 

The  chill,  the  cheerless,  gaping  grave  ! 

When  Death's  cold  hand  hath  closed  these  eyes ! 

And  stifled  life's  last  struggling  sighs, 

In  darkness  and  in  dust  must  I, 

Alas  !  forever — ever  lie  ! 

— Translation  of  Bourne. 


Vol.  I.— 27 


ANDERSEN,  Hans  Christian,  a  Danish 
dramatist,  poet,  and  story-writer,  born  at  Odense, 
island  of  Fiinen,  April  2,  1805  ;  died  at  Copen- 
hagen August  4,  1875.  His  father,  a  poor  shoe- 
maker, died  while  the  son  was  a  child.  In  1819 
he  was  sent  by  his  mother  to  Copenhagen  to 
study  music.  Here  he  underwent  many  hard- 
ships, but  in  the  end  found  patrons  by  whom  he 
was  warmly  befriended  ;  and  by  their  aid  he  was 
enabled  to  pursue  his  studies  at  the  Gymnasium. 
He  entered  the  University  in  1828;  but  before 
that  time  he  had  gained  considerable  reputation 
by  his  poems,  especially  by  one  entitled  T/ie 
Dying  CJiild.  This  was  followed,  in  1829,  by  a  sa- 
tirical narrative  of  A  Journey  on  Foot  from  the 
Holm-canal  to  tJie  Eastern  Point  of  Amak.  He  now 
fairly  commenced  his  literary  career,  publishing  a 
volume  of  poems  in  1830,  and  another  entitled 
Fantasies  and  Sketches,  in  1831.  All  of  his  numer- 
ous works  have  been  translated  into  German,  and 
many  of  them  into  English,  French,  and  other 
languages.  These  translations  have  given  him  a 
far  more  extended  reputation  than  could  have 
been  attained  by  their  issue  in  their  original  lan- 
guage, which  is  understood  by  comparatively  few 
readers.  The  German  edition  of  his  Complete 
Works  comprises  about  fifty  small  volumes. 
Many  of  these  books  were  the  result  of  travels  in 


HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  4^9 

various  parts  of  Europe.  In  1844  he  received  a 
pension  from  the  Danish  Government ;  and  in 
1875,  upon  the  70th  anniversary  of  his  birthday, 
he  was  invested  with  the  grand  cross  of  the  Order 
of  Dannebrog".  Some  of  his  dramatic  pieces  met 
with  a  very  favorable  reception  ;  but  he  is  best 
known  by  his  tales  and  his  sketches  of  travel. 
Prominent  among  his  works  are:  The  Improvisatore, 
which  describes  in  a  glowing  style  his  impressions 
of  Italy ;  O.  T.,  a  novel  depicting  life  in  Northern 
Europe ;  Only  a  Fiddler,  a  half-autobiographic 
story  of  homely  life ;  A  Poefs  Bazaar,  a  collection 
of  miscellanies ;  and  several  series  of  Tales  for 
Children.  He  also  wrote  The  Story  of  my  Life^ 
bringing  the  somewhat  imaginative  narrative 
down  to  1847.  This  work  was  continued  by  an- 
other hand  down  to  the  time  of  Andersen's  death 

THE    DYING    CHILD. 

Mother,  I'm  tired,  and  I  would  fain  be  sleeping. 

Let  me  repose  upon  thy  bosom  seek  ; 
But  promise  me  thou  wilt  leave  off  weeping  ; 

Because  thy  tears  fall  hot  upon  my  cheek. 
Here  it  is  cold  ;  the  tempest  raveth  madly  ; 

But  in  my  dreams  all  is  so  wondrous  bright : 
I  see  the  angel-children  smiling  gladly 

When  from  my  weary  eyes  I  shut  out  light. 

Mother,  one  stands  beside  me  now  !  and  listen  ! 

Dost  thou  not  hear  the  music's  sweet  accord  1 
See  how  his  white  wings  beautifully  glisten  ! 

Surely  those  wings  were  given  by  our  Lord  ! 
Green,  gold,  and  red  are  floating  all  around  me  : 

They  are  the  flowers  the  angel  scattereth. 
Shall  I  have  also  wings  whilst  life  has  bound  meT 

Or,  mother,  are  they  given  alone  in  death  ? 


430  HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

Why  dost  thou  clasp  me  as  if  I  were  going  ? 

Why  dost  thou  press  thy  cheek  thus  unto  mine? 
Thy  cheek  is  hot,  and  yet  thy  tears  are  flowing  : — 

I  will,  dear  mother,  will  be  always  thine  ! 
Do  not  sigh  thus  :  it  marreth  my  rejoicing  ; 

And  if  thou  weep,  then  I  must  weep  with  thee.-==- 
Oh,  I  am  tired  ;  my  weary  eyes  are  closing : — 

Look,  mother,  look  !  the  angel  kisseth  me  ! 

— Translation  of  Mary  Howitt. 

JENNY    LIND    IN    COPENHAGEN. 

One  day,  in  1840,  in  the  hotel  in  which  I  lived  in 
Copenhagen,  I  saw  the  name  of  Jenny  Lind  among 
those  of  the  strangers  from  Sweden.  I  was  aware  at 
that  time  that  she  was  the  first  singer  in  Stockholm.  I 
had  been  that  same  year  in  the  neighboring  country, 
and  had  there  met  with  honor  and  kindness.  I  thought, 
therefore,  that  it  would  not  be  unbecoming  in  me  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  young  artist.  She  was  at  this  time 
entirely  unknown  out  of  Sweden,  so  that  I  was  con- 
vinced that,  even  in  Copenhagen,  her  name  was  known 
only  by  few.  She  received  me  very  courteously,  but 
yet  distantly,  almost  coldly.  She  was,  as  she  said,  on  a 
journey  with  her  father  to  South  Sweden,  and  was  come 
over  to  Copenhagen  for  a  few  days  in  order  that  she 
might  see  this  city.  We  parted  distantly,  and  I  had 
the  impression  of  a  very  ordinary  character,  which  soon 
passed  away  from  my  mind. 

In  the  Autumn  of  1843  Jenny  Lind  came  again  to 
Copenhagen.  My  friend  Bournonville,  who  had  mar- 
ried a  Swedish  lady,  a  friend  of  Jenny  Lind,  informed 
me  of  her  arrival  here,  and  told  me  that  she  remem- 
iDered  me  very  kindly,  and  that  now  she  had  read  my 
writings.  He  entreated  me  to  go  with  him  to  her,  and 
to  employ  all  my  persuasive  art  to  induce  her  to  take  a 
few  parts  at  the  Theatre  Royal  ;  I  should,  he  said,  be 
then  quite  enchanted  with  what  I  should  hear.  I  was 
not  now  received  as  a  stranger  ;  she  cordially  extended 
her  hand,  and  spoke  of  my  writings  and  of  Fredrika 
Bremer,  who  was  her  intimate  friend. 

"  I  have  never  made  my  appearance,"  said  she,  "  out 
of  Sweden  :  everybody  in  my  .native  land  is  so  affec- 


HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  421 

tionate  and  kind  to  me,  and  if  I  made  my  appearance 
in  Copenhagen  and  should  be  hissed  ! — I  dare  not  vent- 
ure on  it  !  " 

I  said  that  I,  it  was  true,  could  not  pass  judgment  on 
her  singing,  because  I  had  never  heard  it  ;  neither  did 
I  know  how  she  acted  ;  but  nevertheless  I  was  con- 
vinced that  such  was  the  disposition  at  this  moment  in 
Copenhagen  that  only  a  moderate  voice  and  some 
knowledge  of  acting  would  be  successful ;  I  believed 
that  she  might  safely  venture. 

Bournonville's  persuasion  obtained  for  the  Copen- 
hageners  the  greatest  enjoyment  which  they  ever  had. 
Jenny  Lind  made  her  first  appearance  among  them  as 
Alice  in  "  Robert  le  Diable."  It  was  like  a  new  revelation 
in  the  realms  of  art ;  the  youthfully  fresh  voice  forced 
itself  into  every  heart ;  here  reigned  truth  and  nat- 
ure ;  everything  was  full  of  meaning  and  intelligence. 
At  one  concert  Jenny  Lind  sang  her  Swedish  songs  ; 
there  was  something  so  peculiar  in  this,  so  bewitching, 
people  thought  nothing  about  the  concert-room  ;  the 
popular  melodies  uttered  by  a  being  so  purely  feminine, 
and  bearing  the  universal  stamp  of  genius,  exercised 
their  omnipotent  sway  ;  the  whole  of  Copenhagen  was 
in  raptures.  Jenny  Lind  was  the  first  singer  to  whom 
the  Danish  students  gave  a  serenade  :  torches  blazed 
around  the  hospitable  villa  where  the  serenade  was 
given.  She  expressed  her  thanks  by  again  singing 
some  Swedish  songs  ;  and  I  then  saw  her  hasten  into 
the  deepest  corner,  and  weep  for  emotion. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  she,  "  I  will  exert  myself  !  I  will  en- 
deavor ;  I  will  be  better  qualified  than  I  am,  when  I 
again  come  to  Copenhagen." 

On  the  stage  she  was  the  great  artiste  who  rose 
above  all  those  around  her  ;  at  home,  in  her  own  cham- 
ber, a  sensitive  young  girl,  with  all  the  humility  and 
piety  of  a  child.  Her  appearance  in  Copenhagen  made 
an  epoch  in  the  history  of  our  opera.  It  showed  me 
art  in  its  sanctity — I  had  beheld  one  of  its  vestals. 
"  There  will  not  in  a  whole  century,"  said  Mendelssohn, 
speaking  to  me  of  Jenny  Lind^  "  be  born  another  being 
so  gifted  as  she  ;  "  and  his  words  expressed  my  full 
conviction.     One  feels,  as  she  makes  her  appearance  on 


422  HANS   CHRISTIAN'  ANDERSEN 

the  Stage,  that  she  is  a  pure  vessel  from  which  a  holy 
draught  will  be  presented  to  us. 

There  is  not  anything  which  can  lessen  the  im- 
pression which  Jenny  Lind's  greatness  on  the  stage 
makes,  except  her  own  personal  character  at  home.  An 
intelligent  and  child-like  disposition  exercises  here  its 
astonishing  power  ;  she  is  happy,  belonging,  as  it  were, 
no  longer  to  the  world  ;  a  peaceful,  quiet  home  is  the 
object  of  her  thoughts ;  and  yet  she  loves  art  with  her 
whole  soul,  and  feels  her  vocation  in  it. 

A  noble,  pious  disposition  like  hers  cannot  be  spoiled 
by  homage.  On  one  occasion  only  did  I  hear  her  ex- 
press her  joy  in  her  talent,  and  her  self-consciousness. 
It  was  during  her  last  residence  in  Copenhagen.  Al- 
most every  evening  she  appeared  either  in  the  opera  or  at 
concerts  ;  every  hour  was  in  requisition.  She  heard  of 
a  society  the  object  of  which  was  to  assist  unfortunate 
children,  and  to  take  them  out  of  the  hands  of  their  par- 
ents by  whom  they  were  misused,  and  compelled  either 
to  beg  or  steal,  and.  to  place  them  in  other  and  better 
circumstances.  Benevolent  people  subscribed  annually 
a  small  sum  each  for  their  support ;  nevertheless  the 
means  for  this  excellent  purpose  were  small. 

"  But  have  I  not  still  a  disengaged  evening?"  said 
she  ;  "let  me  give  a  night's  performance  for  the  benefit 
of  these  poor  children ;  but  we  will  have  double 
prices  !  " 

Such  a  performance  was  given,  and  returned  large 
proceeds.  When  she  was  informed  of  this,  and  that  by 
this  means  a  number  of  poor  children  would  be  bene- 
fited for  several  years,  her  countenance  brightened,  and 
the  tears  filled  her  eyes.  "It  is,  however,  beautiful," 
she  said,  "  that  I  can  sing  so  !  " 

Through  Jenny  Lind  I  first  became  sensible  of  the 
holiness  there  is  in  art :  through  her  I  learned  that 
one  must  forget  one's  self  in  the  service  of  the  Supreme. 
No  books,  no  men,  have  had  a  better  or  a  more  ennob- 
ling influence  on  me  as  the  poet,  than  Jenny  Lind.  I 
have  made  the  happy  discovery  by  experience,  that  in- 
asmuch as  art  and  life  are  more  clearly  understood  by 
me,  so  much  more  sunshine  from  without  has  streamed 
into  my  soul.     What  blessings  have  not  compensated 


HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  423 

me  for  the  former  dark  days  !  Repose  and  certainty 
have  forced  themselves  into  my  heart. —  The  Story  of  ?fiy 
Life ;  translation  of  Mary  Howitt. 

Andersen's  Stories  for  Children  number  several 
scores  in  all,  written  at  various  intervals.  Of 
these  we  extract  but  one : 

THE   UGLY    LITTLE   DUCK. 

It  was  so  delightful  in  the  country,  for  Summer  was  in 
the  height  of  its  splendor.  The  corn  was  yellow,  the  oats 
green,  the  hay,  heaped  into  cocks  in  the  meadow  below, 
looked  like  little  grass  hillocks  ;  and  the  stork  strutted 
about  on  its  long,  red  legs,  chattering  Egyptian,  for 
that  was  the  language  it  had  learned  from  its  mother. 

The  fields  and  meadows  were  surrounded  by  more  or 
less  thickly  wooded  forests,  which  also  enclosed  deep 
lakes,  the  smooth  waters  of  which  were  sometimes  ruf- 
fled by  a  gentle  breeze.  It  was,  indeed,  delightful  in 
the  country. 

In  the  bright  sunshine  stood  an  old  mansion  sur- 
rounded by  a  moat  and  wall,  strong  and  proud  almost 
as  in  the  feudal  times.  From  the  wall  all  down  the  way 
to  the  water  grew  a  complete  forest  of  burdock  leaves, 
which  were  so  high  that  a  little  child  could  stand  up- 
right among  them.  It  was  a  real  wilderness,  so  quiet 
and  sombre,  and  here  sat  a  Duck  upon  her  nest  hatch- 
ing a  quantity  of  eggs  ;  but  she  was  almost  tired  of  her 
tedious  though  important  occupation,  for  it  lasted  so 
very  long,  and  she  seldom  had  any  visitors.  The  other 
ducks  preferred  swimming  about  on  the  moat,  and  the 
canals  that  ran  through  the  garden,  to  visiting  her  in 
her  solitude. 

At  length,  however,  there  was  a  crackling  in  one  of 
the  eggs,  then  a  second,  third,  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth. 
"  Piep  !  piep  !  "  sounded  from  here  :  "  Piep  !  piep  !  " 
sounded  from  there,  at  least  a  dozen  times.  There  was, 
all  of  a  sudden,  life  in  the  eggs,  and  the  little  half-naked 
creatures,  their  dwellings  having  become  too  confined 
for  them,  thrust  out  their  heads  as  out  of  a  window, 
looking  quite  confused. 


424  HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

"  Quick  !  quick  !  "  their  mother  cried  ;  so  the  little 
ones  made  as  much  haste  as  they  possibly  could.  They 
stared  about  them,  as  if  examining  the  green  leaves  ; 
and  their  mother  let  them  look  as  long  as  they  liked  : 
for  green  is  good  for  the  eyes. 

"  How  large  the  world  is  !  "  they  said  ;  and  certainly 
there  lay  before  them  a  much  more  extensive  space 
than  in  their  eggs. 

"  Do  you  imagine  this  is  the  whole  world  ?  "  their 
mother  answered.  "  Oh,  no  ;  it  stretches  far  beyond 
the  garden,  and  on  the  other  side  the  meadow,  where 
the  parson's  cows  are  grazing,  though  I  have  never  been 
there  But  you  are  all  here,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  added 
with  true  maternal  solicitude  ;  and  she  stood  up  ; 
whereby,  in  spite  of  all  her  care,  there  was  a  great  over- 
throw and  confusion  among  the  little  ones.  "  No,  I 
have  not  them  all  yet,"  she  said  sighing.  "  The  largest 
of  the  eggs  lies  there  still.  How  much  longer  is  it 
to  last  ?  It  is  becoming  really  too  wearing."  She 
mustered,  however,  all  her  patience,  and  sat  down 
again. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  "  an  old  Duck  inquired, 
coming  to  pay  her  friend  a  formal  visit. 

"With  one  of  the  eggs  there  seems  to  be  no  end  of 
the  trouble,"  the  over-tired  mother  complained.  "  The 
shell  must  be  too  thick,  so  that  the  poor  little  thing 
cannot  break  through  ;  but  you  must  see  the  others, 
which  are  the  prettiest  little  creatures  that  a  mother 
could  ever  wish  for.  And  what  an  extraordinary  resem- 
blance they  bear  to  their  father,  who  is  certainly  the 
handsomest  Drake  in  the  whole  yard  ;  but  he  is  giddy, 
and  faithless  as,  indeed,  all  men  are  !  He  has  not  vis- 
ited me  once  here  in  my  solitude." 

'*  Show  me  the  tgg  which  will  not  burst,"  the  old 
Duck  said,  interrupting  her.  "  Take  my  word  for  it,  it 
is  a  turkey's  egg.  I  was  once  played  the  same  trick  ; 
and  precious  trouble  I  had,  with  the  little  ones  ;  for 
they  were  afraid  of  the  water.  How  I  coaxed,  scolded 
and  fumed,  but  all  of  no  use  ;  they  would  not  be  in- 
duced to  go  in.  Now  let  me  examine  the  obstinate  tg% ; 
yes,  it  is  just  as  I  expected  ;  it  is  a  turkey's  ^g<g.  Take 
my  advice,  leave  the  nest,  and  go  and  exercise  the  other 


HAN'S  CHRISTIAN'  ANDERSEN  425 

little  ones  in  swimming  ;  for  you  are  not  bound  by  any 
duties  towards  this  cheat." 

"  I  would  rather  sit  a  little  longer  on  it,"  the  other 
said,  shaking  her  head.  "  I  have  already  had  so  much 
trouble  that  it  does  not  matter  whether  I  am  kept  to  it 
a  day  or  two  longer  or  not." 

"  Oh,  if  you  like  it,  I  have  no  objection,"  the  old  one 
answered,  and  with  a  stiff  courtesy  took  her  leave,  phi- 
losophizing on  her  way,  "  She'll  have  trouble  enough 
with  it  !  " 

At  length  the  large  tg%  burst.  "  Piep,  piep  !  "  cried 
the  tardy  comer,  and  fell  head-foremost  out  of  the  shell. 
He  was  so  big  and  ugly  that  his  mother  scarcely  dared 
look  at  him,  and  the  more  she  did  so,  the  less  she  knew 
what  to  say.     At  last  she  exclaimed  involuntarily — 

"That  is  certainly  the  most  frightfully  curious  young 
Drake  !  Can  it  possibly  be  a  turkey  ?  But  wait,  we 
will  soon  see,  for  into  the  water  he  shall  go.  I  will  push 
him  in  myself,  without  further  to-do ;  and  then,  if  he 
cannot  dive  and  swim  he  may  drown,  and  serve  him 
right  too." 

The  following  day  was  splendid  weather,  the  sun 
shining  brightly  upon  the  burdock-leaves,  and  the  duck 
mamma  with  her  whole  family  waddled  down  to  the 
moat.  **  Splash  ! "  and  she  was  in  the  water.  **  Quick, 
quick  !  "  she  cried,  and  one  duckling  after  another  fol- 
lowed her  example  ;  not  one  would  remain  behind.  The 
water  closed  over  their  heads;  but  they  immediately 
came  to  the  top  again,  and  swam  most  beautifully. 
Their  legs  moved  of  their  own  accord,  and  even  the 
ugly  gray  late-comer  swam  merrily  with  them. 

"He  is  no  turkey,"  the  old  Duck  said;  "only  see 
how  quickly  he  moves  his  legs,  and  how  straight  he 
holds  himself  !  Yes,  he  is  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  and, 
after  all,  on  more  careful  examination,  he  is  a  good- 
looking  fellow  enough.  Now  follow  me  quickly,  and  I 
will  introduce  you  into  the  world,  and  present  you  in 
the  poultry-yard.  But  mind  you  keep  close  to  me,  that 
no  one  may  tread  on  you ;  and,  of  all  things,  take  care 
of  the  cat." 

They  reached  the  yard,  where  there  was  a  dreadfully 
noisy  commotion,  for  two  worthy  families  were  disputing 


426  HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

about  the  head  of  an  eel,  which  the  cat  took  from  both 
of  them, 

"  So  it  is  in  the  world,"  the  mother-duck  said  ;  and  her 
mouth  watered,  as  she  too  would  gladly  have  had  the 
eel's  head,  for  which  she  had  a  particular  weakness. 

"Now  move  your  legs,"  she  said,  "and  bow  prettily, 
slightly  bending  your  necks  before  the  old  Duck  you 
see  there,  for  she  is  considered  the  highest  of  all.  She 
is  of  pure  Spanish  blood,  and  therefore  she  is  so  solemn 
and  proud.  Do  you  see  she  has  a  piece  of  red  cloth 
round  her  left  leg,  which  is  something  extraordinarily 
splendid,  and  the  greatest  mark  of  distinction  which  can 
be  conferred  upon  a  Duck  ?  It  means  that  she  shall  be 
known  to  all  beasts  and  men  ;  and  that  she  is  to  enjoy 
the  most  unusual  piece  of  good  fortune — to  end  her 
days  in  peace.  Make  haste,  my  children  ;  but,  for  good- 
ness' sake,  don't  turn  your  legs  in  so;  for  a  well-bred 
young  Duck  must  keep  its  legs  far  apart,  just  like  papa 
and  mamma.  Imitate  me  in  all  things,  and  pay  atten- 
tion to  the  word  of  command.  When  you  bow,  do  not 
neglect  to  bend  your  necks  gracefully,  and  then  boldly 
say  'Quack,  quack  !' — nothing  more." 

So  they  did,  but  the  other  Ducks  round  about  looked 
upon  them  with  contempt,  and  said  out  quite  loud — 

"Well,  well,  now  all  this  stupid  pack  is  to  be  foisted 
upon  us,  as  if  we  were  not  numerous  enough  without 
them.  Indeed,  we  do  not  require  any  increase  of  that 
sort.  And,  oh  dear!  just  look  at  that  one  big  thing! 
Such  a  deformity,  at  least,  we  will  not  allow  amongst 
us!" 

Thereupon  an  upstart  Drake  made  a  rush  at  the  poor 
green-gray  youngster,  and  bit  him  in  the  neck. 

"  Leave  him  alone  !  "  cried  the  highly  incensed  mother; 
"for  he  is  not  doing  anything  to  offend  you  ;  and  I  will 
not  allow  him  to  be  ill-used." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  for  his  age  he  is  much  too  big 
and  peculiar,"  the  snappish  Drake  answered  ;  "and  nat- 
urally, therefore,  he  must  be  put  down." 

"They  are  very  pretty  children  indeed,  that  mamma 
has  there,"  the  old  Duck  with  the  red  cloth  round  her 
leg  said  ;  "all  of  them,  with  the  exception  of  one  only; 
and  he  has  certainly  not  succeeded." 


HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  427 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  gracious  Madam  !  "  the  mother  an- 
swered, with  difficulty  swallowing  her  mortification. 
"  He  is  certainly  not  a  pattern  of  beauty  ;  but  he  has  a 
charming  disposition,  and  swims  as  well  as  any  of  them  ; 
indeed,  1  may  say  a  little  better  ;  and  I  am  of  opinion 
that  he  will  grow  up  handsome  enough,  when,  instead  of 
growing  taller,  he  spreads  out,  and  gains  roundness  of 
form.  He  lay  too  long  in  the  ^"gZi  •^'"^^  therefore  has  not 
his  proper  shape." 

Whilst  she  spoke  thus  in  the  youngster's  favor,  she 
did  her  best  to  smooth  down  his  gray-green  uniform 
where  it  had  been  ruffled.  "  Besides,"  the  good  mother 
continued  warmly,  "  the  same  fulness  and  elegance  of 
form  is  not  expected  from  a  Drake  as  from  a  Duck.  I 
have  an  idea  that  he  will  make  his  way." 

"The  other  little  ones  are  charming,"  the  old  Spanish 
Duck  repeated.  "  Now  make  yourselves  at  home,  and  if 
you  should  happen  to  find  an  eel's  head  you  may  bring 
it  to  me  without  hesitation.     You  understand  me  !  " 

And  now  they  were  at  home. 

But  the  poor  ugly  green-gray  youngster,  who  had 
come  last  out  of  the  tg<g^  was  bitten,  jostled,  and  made 
game  of  by  the  ducks  as  well  as  the  chickens.  "  He  is 
much  too  big  !  "  they  all  said,  with  one  accord.  And 
the  stuck-up  turkey,  because  he  was  born  with  spurs, 
fancied  himself  almost  an  emperor,  gave  himself  airs, 
and  strutted  about  like  a  ship  in  full  sail,  whilst  his 
fiery  head  grew  redder  and  redder.  The  poor  perse- 
cuted young  thing  neither  knew  where  to  stand  nor 
where  to  go  to,  and  his  heart  was  saddened  by  all  that 
he  had  to  suffer  on  account  of  his  ugliness. 

Thus  it  was  the  first  day  ;  and  day  after  day  it  only 
grew  worse.  The  ugly  green-gray  youngster  was  wor- 
ried and  hunted  by  all  :  even  his  own  brothers  and  sis- 
ters were  against  him,  and  were  constantly  saying  :  "  If 
the  cat  would  but  take  you,  you  horror  !  "  His  mother, 
weighed  down  by  sorrow,  sighed,  "  Oh,  I  wish  I  had 
never  borne  you,  or  were  you  but  far  away  from  here  !  " 
The  ducks  bit  him,  the  chickens  pecked  him,  and  the 
girl  that  brought  them  their  food  kicked  him. 

Driven  by  fear  and  despair  he  now  ran  and  flew  as 
far  as  his  tired  legs  and  weak  wings  would  carry  him  ; 


428  HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

till,  with  a  great  effort,  he  got  over  the  hedge,  which, 
no  doubt,  was  not  very  low.  The  little  singing-birds  in 
the  bushes  flew  up  in  a  fright,  and  the  young  fugitive 
thought,  '•'•  That  is  because  I  am  so  ugly." 

He,  however,  hurried  forward,  led  by  instinct,  towards 
an  unknown  goal.  This  was  a  swamp,  surrounded  by 
wood,  and  was  the  dwelling-place  of  shoals  of  Wild 
Ducks.  Sad  and  tired  to  death,  he  remained  here  the 
whole  night,  almost  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness,  whilst 
the  full  moon  above  bore  such  a  friendly  countenance, 
as  if  laughing  at  the  foolish  frogs,  which  kept  jumping 
from  the  water  onto  the  grass,  and  back  again  to  the 
water,  as  if  imitating  the  dances  of  merry  elves. 

Early  the  next  morning,  aroused  by  the  first  glimmer 
of  the  sun,  the  wild  ducks  rose  from  their  watery  beds 
to  take  a  turn  in  the  warm  Summer  air,  when  with  sur- 
prise they  saw  the  stranger. 

"  What  a  funny  guy  is  this  !  "  they  exclaimed.  "  Where 
can  he  have  come  from  ? "  they  inquired  of  each  other, 
whilst  the  stranger,  with  all  possible  politeness,  turned 
from  side  to  side,  first  bowing  to  the  right  and  then  to 
the  left,  as  no  ballet-mistress,  much  less  a  ballet-master, 
could  do. 

"  You  are  right  down  ugly,"  the  wild  ducks  said  ; 
"  but  that  does  not  make  much  difference  to  us,  as  long 
as  you  do  not  marry  into  our  family." 

The  poor  outcast  thought  of  nothing  less  than  mar- 
rying. All  he  wished  for  was  to  remain  undisturbed 
among  the  rushes,  and  drink  a  little  of  the  water  of  the 
swamp.  Here  he  lay  two  whole  days,  when  two  wild 
geese  arrived — or  rather  goslings — for  they  had  not 
long  come  out  of  the  t%g,  and  therefore  were  they  so 
merry. 

*'  Well  met,  comrade  !  "  one  of  them  said  ;  "  you  are 
so  ugly  that  I  like  you.  Come  with  us,  for  close  by  is 
another  swamp,  where  there  are  some  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful geese,  the  sweetest  of  young  damsels,  who  did  not 
get  married  last  autumn.  You  are  just  the  fellow  to 
make  your  fortune  with  them,  you  are  so  exemplahly 
ugly." 

"Bang,  bang  !  "  it  sounded  at  that  very  moment,  and 
the   two  wild  goslings  fell  down  dead,  the  water  being 


HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  429 

discolored  with  their  blood.  "  Bang,  bang  !  "  it  went 
again  ;  and  a  quantity  of  geese  flew  up  from  the 
rushes.  There  was  more  firing  ;  for  the  sportsmen  lay 
all  around  the  marsh,  some  of  them  sitting  even  in  the 
branches  of  the  trees  that  overhung  the  mass  of  rushes. 
The  blue  smoke  from  the  powder  rose  like  clouds 
amongst  the  dark  foliage,  and  "  splash  "  the  dogs  sprang 
into  the  water,  little  heeding  the  fresh  breeze  which 
whistled  among  the  waving  reeds. 

A  nice  fright  the  poor  green-gray  had,  and  he  was 
about  to  hide  his  head  under  one  of  his  wings,  that,  at 
least,  he  might  see  no  more  of  the  horrors,  when,  close 
by  him  appeared  an  enormous  dog,  its  tongue  hanging 
far  out  of  its  throat,  and  blood-thirsty  rage  sparkling  in 
its  eyes.  With  wide  open  jaws,  showing  two  formidable 
rows  of  murderous  teeth,  the  water-spaniel  advanced 
towards  the  poor  bird,  that  now  gave  itself  upas  utterly 
lost ;  but,  generously  disdaining  to  seize  upon  its  easy 
prey,  the  noble  creature  went  on  : — 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  the  poor  outcast  said.  "  I  am 
so  ugly  that  the  dog  does  not  like  to  touch  me  ; "  and 
he  lay  perfectly  quiet,  whilst  the  shot  whizzed  over  his 
head  amongst  the  rushes. 

Not  till  late  in  the  afternoon  did  the  firing  cease  ;  but 
even  then  the  poor  youngster,  whose  life  had  been 
saved  as  if  by  a  miracle,  did  not  venture  to  move.  He 
waited  several  hours  before  he  drew  his  head  from 
under  his  wing,  and  cautiously  looked  about  him  ;  but 
then  he  hastened,  with  all  possible  speed  to  get  away 
from  the  scene  of  horror.  As  before  he  had  flown  from 
the  poultry  yard,  so  now,  but  with  redoubled  exertion, 
he  fled,  he  knew  not  whither,  A  boisterous  wind,  which 
followed  upon  the  setting  of  the  sun,  was  ungracious 
enough  to  have  no  consideration  for  the  scantily  cov- 
ered traveller,  and  considerably  impeded  his  progress, 
exhausting  his  strength. 

Late  in  the  evening  our  fugitive  reached  a  miserable 
cottage,  which  was  in  such  a  wretched  state  that  it  did 
not  know  on  which  side  to  fall  ;  and  on  that  account 
it  remained  standing  for  the  time  being.  The  wind 
blew  around  him,  and  shook  the  poor  bird  so  violently 
that  he  had  to  seat  himself  upon   his  tail  to  be  able  to 


43°  ITAXS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

offer  the  necessary  resistance.  He  then,  with  no  small 
delight  discovered  that  the  rickety  door  of  the  cottage, 
which,  though  it  did  not  promise  much  comfort,  yet 
offered  a  shelter  against  the  now  doubly  raging  storm, 
had  broken  loose  from  the  lower  hinge,  and  that  there 
was  a  slanting  opening,  through  which  he  could  slip  into 
the  room;  and  this  he  did  without  loss  of  time. 

Here  lived  an  old  woman  with  her  tom-cat  and  her 
hen. 

The  cat  was  a  perfect  master  in  purring  and  in 
washing  ;  and  he  could  so  turn  head-over-heels,  that  no 
one  in  the  neighborhood  could  equal  him  ;  and  one  only 
needed  to  rub  his  hair  repeatedly  the  contrary  way  to 
bring  bright  sparks  from  his  back.  The  old  woman 
called  him  her  little  son.  The  hen  for  her  part,  had 
very  thin,  short  legs,  on  which  account  she  was  called 
"Cluck-small-leg."  She  most  industriously  laid  the 
very  best  eggs,  and  her  mistress  loved  her  as  if  she  were 
her  own  child.  Peace,  concord  and  happiness  evidently 
reigned  in  this  miserable  hut,  as  they  do  in  many  others 
of  a  like  sort. 

In  the  morning  the  strange  unbidden  guest  was  im- 
mediately discovered,  when  the  cat  began  to  purr,  and 
the  hen  to  cluck. 

"What  is  this  ?"  the  old  woman  said,  and  began  a 
close  examination  ;  but,  as  she  could  not  see  well,  she 
took  the  young  meagre  bird  for  a  fat  duck,  which  had 
got  into  her  room  by  mistake. 

"  Here  is  an  unusual  piece  of  good  fortune  !  "  she 
exclaimed  in  joyous  surprise.  "  Now  I  shall  have  duck's 
eggs— that  is,  if  the  stupid  thing  should  not  at  last 
prove  to  be  a  drake,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "  We 
will  give  it  a  trial." 

So  the  green-gray  youngster  remained  there  three 
weeks  on  trial  ;  but  no  t^g  made  its  appearance.  Now 
the  cat  was  master  in  the  house,  and  the  hen  mistress, 
and  they  used  to  say  "we  and  the  world;"  for  they 
thought  they  constituted  half,  and  by  far  the  better 
half  of  the  world.  It  appeared  to  the  young  stranger 
that  others  might  have  another  opinion  ;  which  the  hen 
would  by  no  means  allow. 

"  Can  you  lay  eggs  ?  "  she  asked. 


HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  43^ 

"  No." 

"Then  please  to  hold  your  tongue." 

And  the  cat  asked,  "  Can  you  purr,  or  arch  your 
back  ? " 

"  No." 

"Then  you  have  no  right  to  offer  an  opinion  when 
sensible  people  are  talking." 

And  the  poor  ugly  outcast  sat  in  the  corner,  quite 
melancholy,  in  vain  fighting  against  the  low  spirits 
which  his  self-satisfied  companions  certainly  did  not 
share.  Involuntarily  he  thought  of  the  fresh  air  and  the 
bright  sunshine  out  of  doors,  and  felt  himself  agi- 
tated by  so  violent  a  desire  once  more  to  be  swimming 
on  the  clear  water,  and  to  sport  about  in  the  liquid  ele- 
ment, that  he  could  not  resist,  one  morning,  after  a 
sleepless  night,  opening  his  heart  to  the  hen. 

"  What  mad  fancies  are  turning  that  poor  shallow 
brain  of  yours  again  ? "  the  hen  cried,  almost  in  a  rage, 
in  spite  of  her  natural  quiet  indifference.  "  You  have 
nothing  to  do  ;  and  it  is  sheer  idleness  that  torments  you, 
and  puts  such  foolish  fancies  into  your  head.  Lay  eggs, 
or  purr,  and  you  will  be  all  right." 

"But  it  is  so  pleasant  to  swim,"  the  poor  child  re- 
plied ;  "  so  delightful  to  dive  to  the  bottom,  and  look 
up  at  the  moon  through  the  clear  water." 

"  Yes,  that  must  be  a  great  treat,"  the  hen  said  con- 
temptuously. "  You  must  have  gone  stark,  staring 
mad.  Ask  the  cat — and  I  know  no  one  more  sensible — 
whether  he  likes  swimming  about  in  the  water,  and  div- 
ing to  the  bottom.  I  will  not  speak  of  myself  but  just 
ask  our  mistress  ;  and  there  is  no  one  wiser  than  she  in 
the  whole  world.  Do  you  think  she  has  a  fancy  for 
diving  and  swimming?" 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,"  the  poor  duckling 
sighed. 

"  And  if  we  do  not  understand  you,  pray,  who  can, 
you  conceited  impertinent  creature?"  the  hen  replied 
warmly.  "  You  will  not,  surely,  set  yourself  up  as 
cleverer  than  the  cat  and  our  mistress  ;  not  to  men- 
tion myself.  Pray  think  a  little  less  of  yourself,  and 
thank  your  stars  for  all  the  kindness  that  has  been  shown 
you.     Have  you  not  got  into  a  warm  room   here,  and 


432  HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

amongst  company  from  whom  you  may  learn  some 
good  ?  But  you  are  a  shallow  prattler,  and  a  long- 
necked  dreamer,  whose  society  is  anything  but  amusing. 
You  may  believe  me,  for  I  mean  really  well  with  you, 
and  therefore  tell  you  things  you  do  not  like  to  hear, 
which  is  a  proof  I  am  your  true  friend.  No,  of  all 
things,  mind  that  you  lay  eggs,  and  learn  how  to  purr." 

"  I  think  I  shall  wander  out  into  the  world,"  the  young 
Duck  said,  mustering  up  courage. 

"  Do  so,  by  all  means,"  the  Hen  answered  with  con- 
tempt. "One comfort;  we  shall  lose  nothing  by  your 
absence." 

And  now  the  green-gray  youngster,  without  many 
parting  civilities,  began  his  wanderings  again,  leaving 
the  inhospitable  hut  without  regret ;  and  he  hurried 
towards  the  so  much  longed-for  water.  He  swam  about 
joyously,  and  boldly  dived  down  right  to  the  bottom, 
from  whence  he  saw  the  pale  moon  like  a  rolling  ball  ; 
but  at  length  the  loneliness  and  deathlike  silence  became 
oppressive,  and  when  another  creature  did  appear,  it  was 
sure  to  be  with  the  same  greeting  as  of  old,  namely, 
"  Oh,  how  frightful  you  are  !  "  . 

It  was  now  late  in  the  autumn,  with  frequent  storms 
of  snow  and  hail,  and  the  brown  and  yellow  leaves  of 
the  forest  danced  about,  whipped  by  the  wind,  whilst  all 
above  was  a  cold  leaden  color.  The  crows  sat  in  the 
hedge,  and  cried  "  Caw  !  caw  ! "  with  sheer  cold.  It 
makes  one  shiver  to  think  of  it.  The  poor  outcast  was 
anything  but  happy. 

One  frosty  evening,  when  the  sun  was  setting  like  a 
fiery  wheel  in  the  gigantic  triumphal  car  of  the  creation, 
a  number  of  magnificent  large  birds  swept  past,  and  the 
ugly  green-gray  youngster  thought  he  had  never  seen 
anything  so  beautiful,  and  at  the  same  time  imposing. 
Their  spotless  plumage  shone  like  driven  snow,  and  they 
uttered  a  cry,  half-singing,  half-whistling,  as  they  rose 
higher  and  higher  in  their  flight  towards  more  extensive 
lakes.  A  strange  sensation  came  over  the  poor  young 
Duck,  and  he  turned  round  and  round  like  a  top,  and 
stretching  out  his  neck  after  the  departing  birds,  gave  a 
cry,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  so  loud  and  shrill  that 
he  was  frightened  at  it  himself. 


( 

r 


HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  433 

When  they  quite  disappeared  from  his  sight,  he  sud- 
denly dived  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  water,  and  when 
he  arose  again,  it  was  as  if  beside  himself.  From  that 
moment  never  could  he  forget  those  beautiful,  happy 
birds.  He  did  not  know  that  they  were  called  swans,  nor 
where  they  were  flying  to ;  but  he  loved  them  as  he  had 
never  loved  anything  before.  He  did  not  envy  them  in 
the  least ;  for  how  did  it  enter  into  his  head  to  wish  him- 
self so  splendid  and  beautiful  ?  He  v»^ould  have  been 
contented  to  live  among  the  stupid  Ducks,  if  they 
would  but  have  left  him  in  peace — a  neglected  ugly  thing. 

The  Winter  grew  so  bitterly  cold  that  the  poor  young 
creature  had  to  swim  about  incessantly  to  prevent  the 
water  freezing  quite  over.  Night  after  night  the  hole 
became  less  ;  till  at  last,  exhausted  by  constant  exer- 
tions, he  got  frozen  tight  into  the  ice. 

Early  in  the  morning  a  peasant  came  that  way  ;  and 
seeing  the  poor  bird  in  so  wretched  a  plight,  he  had 
compassion  upon  it,  and  ventured  boldly  upon  the  ice  ; 
for  he  was  a  good  Christian,  and  not  one  of  those  who 
first  see  that  no  inconvenience  will  attend  an  act  of 
kindness.  With  his  wooden  shoes  he  broke  the  ice,,  ex- 
tricated the  to  all  appearance  dead  bird,  and  carried 
him  home  to  his  wife,  where,  in  a  warm  room,  the  green- 
gray  youngster  soon  recovered  animation  and  strength. 

The  children  wished  to  play  with  him  ;  but  the  young 
Drake  thought  they  were  bent  on  ill-using  him  ;  so  in 
his  fright  he  flew  into  an  earthenware  milk-pan,  which 
he  turned  over,  and  the  milk  ran  about  the  floor.  The 
woman  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  raised  her  hands  in  con- 
sternation, which  thoroughly  bewildered  the  poor  bird, 
and  he  flew  into  the  freshly-made  butter,  and  into  the 
flour-tub,  and  out  again.  Oh,  what  a  figure  he  was  now  ! 
Bewailing  her  losses,  the  woman  pursued  him  with  the 
tongs,  and  the  children,  laughing  and  shouting,  rolled 
over  each  other,  as  they  tried  to  catch  him. 

Fortunately  for  our  youngster,  who  was  now  no  longer 
green-gray,  but  of  a  delicate  paste-color,  the  door  was 
open  ;  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  general  confusion, 
he  rushed  out  into  the  open  air,  and  with  difficulty  flut- 
tered into  some  bushes,  not  far  off,  where  he  sank  down 
exhausted. 

Vol.  I.— 2S 


434  HAKS   CHRISTIAN-  ANDERSEN 

But  it  would  be  too  painful  to  follow  the  poor  outcast 
through  all  his  misfortunes,  and  to  witness  the  misery 
and  privation  he  suffered  during  that  severe  Winter. 
We  will  therefore  only  say  that  he  lay  in  a  dreamy  state 
amongst  the  rushes  in  the  marsh,  when  the  sun  again 
began  to  shine  warmly  upon  the  earth, and  the  larks  be- 
gan to  sing;  for  it  was  now  early  Spring. 

Then  the  young  Drake  spread  out  his  wings,  which 
had  grown  much  stronger,  and  with  ease  they  carried 
him  away,  so  that,  almost  before  he  knew  it,  he  found 
himself  in  a  large  garden,  where  the  fruit-trees  were  in 
blossom,  and  where  the  syringas  sent  forth  their  fra- 
grance, and  their  long  green  branches  hung  down  in  the 
meandering  rivulets.  It  was  so  beautiful  :  the  fresh- 
ness of  Spring  was  there;  and  just  then  three  beautiful 
white  swans  came  out  of  the  thicket.  They  rustled 
their  feathers,  and  swam  on  the  water  so  lightly ;  oh,  so 
very  lightly  !  The  Duckling  knew  the  superb  creat- 
ures, and  was  seized  with  a  strange  feeling  of  sadness. 

"To  them  will  I  fly,"  said  he,  "to  the  royal  birds. 
They  will  kill  me,  because  I,  poor  ugly  creature,  dare  to 
approach  them  !  But  no  matter ;  it  is  better  to  be 
killed  by  them  than  to  be  bitten  by  the  ducks,  pecked 
by  the  hens,  kicked  by  the  girl  that  feeds  the  chickens, 
and  in  Winter  to  suffer  so  much." 

And  he  flew  into  the  water,  and  swam  towards  the 
magnificent  birds.  They  looked  at  him,  and,  with  rust- 
ling plume,  sailed  towards  him.  "  Kill  me,"  said  the 
poor  creature,  and  bowed  down  his  head  to  the  water, 
and  awaited  death. 

But  what  did  he  see  in  the  water !  It  was  its  own 
likeness  ;  but  no  longer  that  of  an  awkward  grayish 
bird,  ugly  and  displeasing.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  swan  ! 
It  is  of  no  consequence  the  being  born  in  a  farm-yard, 
if  it  is  only  in  a  swan's  t^%. 

The  good  creature  felt  quite  elevated  by  all  the  cares 
and  disappointments  he  had  endured.  Now  he  knew 
how  to  prize  the  splendor  which  shone  around  him. 
And  the  large  swans  swam  beside  him,  and  caressed  him 
with  their  bills.  There  were  some  little  children  run- 
ning about  in  the  garden  ;  they  threw  bread  into  the 
water,  and  the  youngest  cried  out  : 


HANS   CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN  435 

"  There  is  a  new  one  ! "  and  the  other  children  shouted 
too,  "Yes,  a  new  one  has  come!" — and  they  clapped 
their  hands  and  danced,  and  ran  to  tell  their  father  and 
mother.  And  they  threw  bread  and  cake  into  the 
water,  and  every  one  said  "  The  new  one  is  the  best ! 
so  young  and  so  beautiful ! "  And  the  old  swans 
bowed  their  heads  before  him. 

Then  the  young  Swan  felt  quite  ashamed,  and  hid  his 
head  under  his  wing.  He  knew  not  what  to  do.  He 
was  too  happy,  but  yet  not  proud ;  for  a  good  heart  is 
never  proud.  He  remembered  how  he  had  been  perse- 
cuted and  derided ;  and  now  he  heard  all  people  say 
that  he  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all  beautiful  birds. 
And  the  syringas  bent  down  their  branches  to  him  in 
the  water  ;  and  the  sun  shone  so  lovely  and  so  warm. 
Then  he  shook  his  plumes;  the  slender  neck  was  lifted 
up  ;  and  from  his  very  heart  he  cried,  rejoicingly — 

"  Never  dreamed  I  of  such  happiness  as  this,  in  the 
days  when  I  was  the  Little  Ugly  T>\XQ,\iV'—^TranUation 

&/  AVLRED  WeHNART. 


ANDREWS,  Lancelot,  an  English  bishop, 
born  at  Barking,  in  1555  ;  died  in  London,  Septem- 
ber 25,  1626.  He  was  educated  at  various  schools, 
finally  at  Pembroke  Hall,  Cambridge,  of  which  he 
was  chosen  a  Fellow  in  1576.  He  took  orders, 
and  soon  attracted  the  notice  of  Sir  Francis  Wal- 
singham.  Queen  Elizabeth's  Secretary  of  State, 
from  whom  he  received  several  preferments ;  and 
after  the  death  of  the  Queen  he  came  high  into 
the  favor  of  James  L,  her  successor.  He  was  one 
of  the  body  of  translators  of  the  Bible,  the  first 
twelve  books  of  the  Old  Testament  being  under 
his  special  charge.  In  1605  he  was  consecrated 
Bishop  of  Chichester,  in  1609  was  transferred  to 
the  see  of  Ely,  and  in  1625  to  that  of  Winchester. 
With  perhaps  the  exception  of  Ussher,  he  was  es- 
teemed the  most  learned  English  theologian  of  his 
time ;  and  he  was  in  his  day  accounted  the  most 
eloquent  of  the  Anglican  preachers,  being  styled 
Stella  Pradicantiuvi,  "  The  Star  of  Preachers."  His 
works  consist  of  two  treatises  in  reply  to  Cardinal 
Bellarmin,  in  which  he  advocates  the  right  of 
princes  over  ecclesiastical  councils ;  an  esteemed 
Manual  of  Devotion,  and  numerous  Sermo7is  and 
other  Discourses.  Six  years  after  his  death  a  col- 
lection of  ninety-six  of  his  sermons  was  published 
"by  His  Majesty's  special  commandment."  Bish- 
op   Hacket,  in  his    funeral  discourse,  thus  eulo- 


LANCELOT  ANDREWS  437 

gizes  Bishop  Andrews:  "He  was  the  most  apos- 
tolical and  primitive-like  divine,  in  my  opinion, 
that  ever  wore  a  rochet  in  his  age ;  of  a  most 
venerable  gravity,  and  yet  most  sweet  in  all  com- 
merce ;  the  most  devout  that  ever  I  saw  when  he 
appeared  before  God  ;  of  such  a  growth  in  all 
kinds  of  learning,  that  very  able  clerks  were  of 
low  stature  to  him  ;  in  the  pulpit  a  Homer  among 
preachers."  Doubtless  his  manner  had  much  to 
do  with  his  repute  as  a  preacher.  To  men  of 
after  ages,  who  only  read  his  sermons,  his  style 
appears  affected,  pedantic,  and  strained. 

UPON   ANGELS  AND    MEN. 

I.  What  are  angels?  surely  they  are  spirits — immortal 
spirits.  For  their  nature  or  substance,  spirits  ;  for  their 
quality  or  property,  glorious  ;  for  their  place  of  abode, 
heavenly  ;  for  their  durance  or  continuance,  immortal. — 
And  what  is  the  seed  of  Abraham,  but  as  Abraham  him- 
self? And  what  is  Abraham?  Let  him  answer  him- 
self: I  am  but  dust  and  ashes.  What  is  the  seed  of 
Abraham  ?  Let  one  answer  in  the  persons  of  all  the 
rest ;  Dicens piitrediiii,  etc.: — Saying  to  rottenness,  thou 
art  my  mother,  and  to  the  worms,  ye  are  my  brethren. 
They  are  spirits  ;  now  what  are  we,  what  is  the  seed  of 
Abraham  ?  Flesh,  And  what  is  the  very  harvest  of 
the  seed  of  flesh?  what  but  corruption,  and  rottenness, 
and  worms  ?  There  is  the  substance  of  our  bodies. — 2. 
They  are  glorious  spirits  ;  we  vile  bodies  (bear  with  it, 
it  is  the  Holy  Ghost's  own  term  :  Who  shall  change  our 
vile  bodies).  And  not  only  base  and  vile,  but  filthy  and 
unclean :  ex  ifnmundo  conceptum  mundi^  conceived  of  un- 
clean seed,  there  is  the  metal.  And  the  mould  is  no 
better,  the  womb  wherein  we  were  conceived,  vile,  base, 
filthy,  unclean.  There  is  our  quality. — They  are  heav- 
enly spirits,  angels  of  heaven  ;  that  is,  their  place  of 
abode  is  in  heaven,  ours  is  here  below  in  the  dust ;  inter 
pulice^  et  culices,  tineas,  arances,  et  vermes ;  our  place  is 


438 


LANCELOT  ANDREWS 


here  among  fleas  and  flies,  moths  and  spiders,  and 
crawling  worms.  There  is  our  place  of  dwelling. — 4. 
They  are  immortal  spirits,  that  is  their  durance.  Our 
time  is  proclaimed  in  the  prophet.  Flesh,  all  flesh  is 
grass,  and  the  glory  of  it  as  the  flowers  of  the  field 
(from  April  to  June).  The  scythe  cometh,  nay  the 
wind  but  bloweth,  and  we  are  gone,  withering  sooner 
than  the  grass,  which  is  short ;  nay,  fading  sooner  than 
the  flower  of  the  grass,  which  is  much  shorter ;  nay, 
saith  Job,  rubbed  in  pieces  more  easily  than  any  moth. 

Thus  w-e  are  to  them  if  you  lay  us  together ;  and  if 
you  lay  us  upon  the  balance,  we  are  altogether  lighter 
than  vanity  itself ;  there  is  our  v/eight.  And  if  you 
would  value  us,  man  is  but  a  thing  of  naught :  there  is 
our  worth.  Hoc  is  omnis  /wfno  ;  this  is  Abraham,  and 
this  is  Abraham's  seed:  and  who  would  stand  to  com- 
pare these  with  angels  ?  Verily,  there  is  no  comparison  ; 
they  are  incomparably  far  better  than  the  best  of  us.— 
Sermons, 


ANEURIN,  a  Welsh  poet  of  the  seventh  cen- 
tury, was  the  son  of  a  chieftain  of  a  tribe  which 
dwelt  to  the  south  of  the  Firth  of  Forth.  He  is 
known  as  the  author  of  the  epic  poem,  The  Godo- 
din,  which  was  the  name  of  his  tribe,  otherwise 
called  the  Otadini.  This  poem,  which  records  the 
battle  of  Cattraeth,  fought  in  A.D.,  603  and  at 
which  Aneurin  is  supposed  to  have  been  present, 
has  been  often  translated,  wholly  or  in  part,  and 
sometimes  imitated — notably  by  the  poet  Gray 
in  his  Death  of  Hoel.  The  principal  translation  is 
that  of  the  Welsh  scholar,  John  Williams.  Some 
writers  have  identified  Aneurin  with  Gildas,  while 
others  have  made  him  the  son  of  Gildas.  Elton, 
in  his  Origins  of  English  History,  speaks  of  The 
Gododin  as  "  the  history  of  a  long  war  of  races, 
compressed  under  the  similitude  of  a  battle  into 
a  few  days  of  ruin."  It  is  the  chief  source  of  in- 
formation we  have  concerning  the  author,  who 
says  that  he  was  educated  at  St.  Cadoc's  College, 
at  Llancarvan,  and  that  he  afterward  joined  the 
bardic  order  and  became  a  warrior  priest.  He 
was  taken  prisoner  in  the  battle  which  forms  the 
subject  of  his  muse  ;  afterward  he  returned  to 
Llancarvan;  then,  in  his  old  age,  he  went  into 
Galloway,  where,  it  is  said,  he  was  assassinated. 
The  manuscript  of  his  poem  is  a  vellum  book  of 

(439) 


A.io  ANEURIN 

the  thirteenth  century,  up  to  which  time  the  poem 
was  preserved  by  oral  tradition, 

COMMENCEMENT    OF    THE    GOUODIN. 

Lo,  the  youth,  in  mind  a  man, 
Daring  in  the  battle's  van  ! 
See  the  splendid  warrior's  speed 
On  his  fleet  and  thick-maned  steed, 
As  his  buckler,  beaming  wide, 
Decks  the  courser's  slender  side, 
With  his  steel  of  spotless  mould, 
Ermined  vest  and  spurs  of  gold. 
Think  not,  youth,  that  e'er  from  me 
Hate  or  spleen  shall  flow  to  thee  : 
Nobler  meed  thy  virtues  claim, 
Eulogy  and  tuneful  fame. 
Ah  !  much  sooner  comes  thy  bier 
Than  thy  nuptial  feast,  I  fear  ; 
Ere  thou  mak'st  the  foeman  bleed 
Ravens  on  thy  corse  shall  feed. 
Owain,  lov'd  companion,  friend, 
To  birds  a  prey— is  this  thy  end  ? 
Tell  me,  steed,  on  what  sad  plain 
Thy  ill-fated  lord  was  slain  ? 

—  Translated  by  John  Parry. 

CYNON. 

None  made  the  social  hall  so  free  from  care 

As  gentle  Cynon,  Clinion's  sovereign  lord  ; 

For  highest  rank  he  never  proudly  strove. 

And  whom  he  once  had  known  he  ne'er  wouM  slight. 

Yet  was  his  spear  keen-pointed,  and  well  knew 

To  pierce,  with  truest  aim,  th'  embattled  line. 

Swift  flew  his  steed  to  meet  the  hostile  storm, 

And  death  sat  on  his  lance,  as,  with  the  dawn, 

He  rushed  to  war  in  glory's  brilliant  day. 

-^Translated from  the  Gododin,  by  John  Parry. 


ANNUNZIO,  Gabriele  d*,  an  Italian  nov- 
elist, was  born  in  1864,  on  board  the  brigantine 
Irene,  in  the  waters  of  the  Adriatic ;  and  to  this 
circumstance  has  been  ascribed  the  profound  love 
which  he  has  always  manifested  for  the  sea.  He 
spent  his  childhood  on  the  coast  of  Central  Italy, 
and  from  the  ninth  to  the  sixteenth  year  of  his 
age  he  studied  in  the  college  of  the  old  town  of 
Prato,  in  Tuscany.  Here  he  gained  considerable 
notoriety  by  the  publication  of  a  volume  of  verses, 
to  which  he  gave  the  Latin  title  Priino  Vere.  From 
Prato,  he  went  to  the  University  of  Rome;  and 
here,  in  1882,  while  a  student,  he  published  his 
first  prose  work,  Terra  Vergine,  and  another  vol- 
ume of  verse.  Canto  Novo.  In  1883  he  issued  In- 
termezzo di  Rime.  Then  came  //  Libro  delle  Ver- 
gini  (1884)  ;  San  Pantaleojie  (1886) ;  L Isotteo  (1886)  ; 
Chimera  (1888);  Elegie  Romane  (1892);  the  Poema 
Paradisiaco  (1893);  and  the  prose  works  II  Pia- 
cere  (1889);  Giovamii  Episcopo  (1892),  and  Llnno- 
cente  (1892),  these  last  two  translated  into  French 
by  G.  Herelle  under  the  respective  titles  Episcopo 
et  Cie  and  Ulntrns,  and  //  Piacere  as  V Enfant  de 
Volupt^.  His  Trionfo  delta  Morte  appeared  in 
1894,  and  was  translated  into  French  as  Le  Tri- 
omphe  de  la  Mort,  and  into  English,  by  Arthur  Horn- 
blow  (1897),  as  The  Triumph  of  Death.  This  latter 
work  was  greeted  with  a  storm   of  adverse  criti- 


442  GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO 

cism,  one  prominent  writer  in  the  United  States 
going  so  far  as  to  assert  that  "  it  is  not  a  presenta- 
tion of  life,  but  of  the  corruption  that  attends  life 
and  that  tries  to  make  it  impossible,"  and  that 
"  the  essential  rottenness  of  the  book  condemns  it 
in  spite  of  a  certain  brute  force  ; "  that  "  there  is 
no  excuse  for  putting  D'Annuncio's  books  before 
English  readers."  On  the  other  hand,  The  Tri- 
umph of  Death  has  had  its  able  and  strenuous  advo- 
cates. M.  de  Vogiie  asserts  that  it  has  a  right  to  be 
known  as  one  of  the  master-books  of  our  time. 

AN    INCIDENT    OF    HIPPOLYTE'S   YOUTH. 

The  old  hotel  of  Ludovico  Togni,  with  the  walls  of 
its  long  vestibule  done  in  stucco  and  painted  to  imitate 
marble,  with  its  landing-places  with  green  doors,  deco- 
rated all  over  with  commemorative  stones,  gave  an  im- 
mediate impression  of  quasi-conventual  peace.  All  the 
furniture  had  an  aspect  of  being  heirlooms.  The  beds, 
the  chairs,  the  sofas,  the  couches,  the  chests  of  drawers, 
had  the  style  of  another  age,  now  fallen  into  disuse. 
The  delicately-colored  ceilings,  bright  yellow  and  sky- 
blue,  were  decorated  at  their  centres  with  garlands  of 
roses  or  other  usual  symbols,  such  as  a  lyre,  a  torch,  or 
a  quiver.  On  the  paper-hangings  and  woollen  carpet 
the  bouquets  of  flowers  had  faded,  and  had  become  al- 
most invisible  ;  the  window-curtains,  white  and  modest, 
hung  from  poles  from  which  the  gilt  had  worn  off  ;  the 
rococo  mirrors,  while  reflecting  these  antique  images  in 
a  dull  mist,  imparted  to  them  that  air  of  melancholy, 
and  almost  of  unreality,  which  solitary  pools  sometimes 
give  at  their  edges. 

"  How  pleased  I  am  to  be  here  ! "  cried  Hippolyte, 
penetrated  by  the  charm  of  this  peaceful  spot.  "  I  wish 
I  could  stay  here  forever." 

And  she  drew  herself  up  in  the  great  armchair,  her 
head  leaning  against  the  back,  which  was  decorated 
with  a  crescent,  a  modest  crochet-work  in  white  cotton. 


GABRIELE  D'ANNUNZIO  443 

She  thought  once  more  of  her  dead  aunt  Jane  and  of 
her  distant  infancy. 

"  Poor  aunt !  "  she  said  ;  "  she  had,  I  recall,  a  house 
like  this — a  house  in  which,  for  a  century,  the  furniture 
had  not  been  moved  from  its  place.  I  always  recollect 
her  unhappiness  when  I  broke  one  of  those  glass  globes 
beneath  which  artificial  flowers  are  preserved,  you 
know.  I  remember  she  cried  over  it.  Poor  old  aunt ! 
I  can  see  her  black  lace  cap,  with  her  white  curls  which 
hung  down  her  cheeks." 

She  spoke  slowly,  pausing  from  time  to  time,  her  gaze 
fixed  on  the  fire  which  flamed  in  the  fireplace  ;  and, 
every  now  and  then,  so  as  to  smile  at  George,  she  raised 
her  eyes,  which  were  somewhat  downcast  and  sur- 
rounded by  dark  violet  rings;  while  from  the  street 
arose  the  monotonous  and  regular  noise  of  pavers  beat- 
ing the  pavement. 

"  In  the  house,  I  can  recall,  there  was  a  large  hay- 
loft with  two  or  three  windows,  where  we  kept  the 
pigeons.  You  reached  the  loft  by  means  of  a  small, 
straight  stairway,  against  the  wall  of  which  hung, 
heaven  knows  since  when,  skins  of  hares,  hairless  and 
dried,  stretched  from  two  ends  of  crossed  reeds.  Every 
day  I  carried  food  to  the  pigeons.  As  soon  as  they 
heard  me  coming,  they  clustered  around  the  door.  When 
I  entered,  it  was  a  veritable  assault.  Then  I  would  sit 
on  the  floor  and  scatter  the  barley  all  around  me.  The 
pigeons  surrounded  me ;  they  were  all  white,  and  I 
watched  them  pecking  up  their  food.  The  sound  of  a 
flute  stole  in  from  a  neighboring  house  ;  always  the 
same  air  at  the  same  hour.  This  music  seemed  deli- 
cious to  me.  I  listened,  my  head  raised  to  the  window, 
my  mouth  wide  open,  as  if  to  drink  in  the  notes  which 
showered.  From  time  to  time,  a  belated  pigeon  arrived, 
beating  her  v/ings  on  my  head,  and  filling  my  hair  with 
white  feathers.  And  the  invisible  flute  went  on  play- 
ing. The  air  still  rings  in  my  ears ;  I  could  hum  it. 
That  is  how  I  acquired  a  passion  for  music,  in  a  dove- 
cote, when  a  child." 

And  she  repeated  mentally  the  air  of  the  ancient  flute 
of  Albano;  she  enjoyed  its  sweetness  with  a  melancholy 
comparable   to  that  of  the  wife  who,  after  many  years, 


444  GABRIELE  D'ANNUh^ZIO 

discovers  a  forgotten  sugar-plum  at  the  bottom  of  her 
wedding-box.  There  was  an  interval  of  silence.  A  bell 
sounded  in  the  corridor  of  the  peaceful  residence. 

"  I  remember.  A  lame  turtle-dove  hopped  into  the 
room  ;  and  it  was  one  of  my  aunt's  greatest  favorites. 

"  One  day  a  little  girl  of  the  neighborhood  came  to 
play  with  me — a  pretty  little  blond  girl  named  Clarisse. 
My  aunt  was  confined  to  bed  by  a  cold.  We  amused 
ourselves  on  the  terrace,  to  the  great  damage  of  the 
vases.  The  turtle-dove  appeared  on  the  sill,  looked  at 
us  without  suspicion,  and  squatted  down  in  a  corner  to 
enjoy  the  sunshine.  Scarcely  had  Clarisse  perceived  it, 
however,  when  she  started  forward  to  seize  it.  The 
poor  little  creature  tried  to  escape  by  hopping  away, 
but  it  limped  so  comically  that  we  could  not  control 
our  laughter.  Clarisse  caught  it ;  she  was  a  cruel  child. 
From  laughing  we  were  both  as  drunk.  The  turtle-dove 
trembled  with  fear  in  our  hands. 

"  Clarisse  plucked  one  of  its  feathers  ;  then  (I  shud- 
der still  when  I  think  of  it)  she  plucked  the  dove  almost 
entirely,  before  my  eyes,  with  peals  of  laughter  which 
made  me  laugh  too.  One  could  have  believed  that  she 
was  intoxicated.  The  poor  creature,  despoiled  of  its 
feathers,  bleeding,  escaped  into  the  house  as  soon  as  it 
was  liberated.  We  started  to  pursue  it,  but,  almost  at 
the  same  moment,  we  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  bell,  and 
the  calls  of  my  aunt  who  was  coughing  in  her  bed. 
Clarisse  escaped  rapidly  by  the  stairway  ;  I  hid  myself 
behind  the  curtains.  The  turtle-dove  died  that  same 
night.  My  aunt  sent  me  to  Rome,  convinced  that  I 
was  guilty  of  this  barbarity.  Alas  !  I  never  saw  Aunt 
Jane  again.  How  I  have  wept !  My  remorse  will  last 
forever." 

She  spoke  slowly,  pausing  from  time  to  time,  fixing 
her  dilated  eyes  on  the  flaming  hearth,  which  almost 
magnetized  her,  which  began  to  overcome  her  with  a 
hypnotic  torpor,  while  from  the  street  arose  the  mo- 
notonous and  regular  noise  of  pavers  beating  the  pave- 
ment.— The  Triumph  of  Death,  Chap.  j. 


ANSELM,  Saint,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  the  founder  of  the  scholastic  theology,  born 
near  Aosta,  Italy,  in  1033 ;  died  at  Canterbury, 
England,  April  21,  1109.  While  studying  under 
the  celebrated  prelate  and  scholar,  Lanfranc,  he 
assumed  the  monastic  habit  at  Bee,  in  France,  in 
1060.  He  became  Prior  of  Bee  in  1063,  and  was 
made  Abbot  of  Bee  in  1078.  In  1093  he  was  made 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  He  was  an  able  ad- 
vocate of  the  right  of  investiture,  which  he  sup- 
ported against  William  II.  and  Henry  I. ;  and  the 
anniversary  of  his  death  is  celebrated  in  the  cal- 
endar of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  his  canoni- 
zation having  taken  place  probably  in  the  year  1494. 
Anselm's  principal  works  are  the  two  celebrated 
treatises  Monologion  and  Prosologion,  written  dur- 
ing his  quiet  years  at  Bee,  and  his  treatise  on  the 
atonement,  Cur  Dens  Homo,  written  after  he  became 
archbishop  and  during  the  time  of  the  heated 
controversy  between  the  Pope  and  the  Kings  of 
England.  The  two  former  of  these  three  great 
works  have  been  translated  into  French  en- 
riched with  notes,  by  Bouchitte,  and  were  pub- 
lished at  Paris  in  1842;  the  Cur  Dens  Homo  has 
often  been  published  in  a  separate  form.  Of  the 
principal  authorities  concerning  Anselm  and  his 
writings,  the  Anselm  of  Mohler  was  translated  into 

English  in   1842,  and  the  Saint  Anselm  of  R.  W. 

t445j 


446  SAIiVT  ANSELM 

Church  was  published  in  1870.  A  prominent  au- 
thority says  :  "His  Monologion  and  Prosologion  are 
the  most  remarkable.  He  originated  the  attempt, 
which  was  afterward  renewed  by  Des  Cartes,  to 
constitute  the  true  principle  of  science,  and  which 
has  been  justly  characterized  as  one  of  the  boldest 
ever  made  in  the  philosophical  world." 

SAINT    ANSELM's   MEDITATION. 

Let  the  carnal  and  the  worldly  minds  make  their 
boast  of  such  imaginary  advantages  as  are  agreeable  to 
sensual  dispositions  ;  but  for  thee,  who  art  a  Christian, 
God  forbid,  that  thou,  like  them,  should  think  the  cross 
of  Christ  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,  that  thou  shouldst 
not  glory  in  it,  that  thou  shouldst  imagine  anything  be- 
sides can  be  matter  of  just  glory  and  advantage  to  thee, 
but  only  the  name  of  thy  crucified  Lord,  Christ  Jesus. 
Make  thou  thy  boast  then  in  that  name,  which  is  above 
every  name,  in  which  whosoever  is  blessed  upon  earth, 
shall  be  blessed  also  in  heaven.  Let  iJicin  give  thanks 
7v/wm  the  Lord  bath  redeemed  {VsVi.  cviii.  2) ;  yea,  let  them 
ever  praise  his  holy  name.  O  come  and  let  us  ascribe 
due  honour  to  our  Saviour,  who  hath  done  so  great 
things  for  us,  great  things,  whereof  we  do  and  ought  to 
rejoice.  Lift  up  your  hearts  and  join  your  voices,  ye 
children  of  grace  and  redemption,  and  let  us  magnify 
his  name  together,  saying,  We  praise  thee,  7ve  bless  thee, 
ive  glorify  thee,  we  give  thanks  to  thee,  for  thy  great  glory, 
O  Christ,  the  King  of  Israel,  the  Light  of  the  Gentiles, 
the  Prince  of  all  the  kings  of  the  earth,  the  Lord  of 
hosts,  the  power  of  God  Almighty  in  its  utmost  strength 
and  perfection.  We  worship  thee,  O  precious  and  valu- 
able ransom  of  our  souls !  O,  our  peace,  and  most  ac- 
ceptable sacrifice  !  Who,  by  the  sweet-smelling  savour 
of  thy  sin-offering,  didst  incline  the  Father,  whose 
dwelling  is  on  high,  to  cast  an  eye  of  pity  upon  the 
vilest  of  his  creatures  here  below,  and  didst  open  a  way 
to  reconciliation  for  the  sons  of  wrath  and  perdition. 
We  publish  the  praise  of  thy  mercy,  O  blessed   Jesus, 


SAINT  A  MS  ELM 


447 


and  out  of  the  abundance  of  our  hearts  do  gratefully 
recount  the  sweetness  of  thy  love ;  we  offer  unto  thee 
our  daily  sacrifice  of  gratitude  and  glory,  for  the  incom- 
prehensible excellence  of  thy  goodness,  and  the  bowels 
of  that  tender  and  unbounded  compassion  which  thou 
hast  been  pleased  to  extend  to  a  most  reprobate  and 
ungracious  seed,  a  race  of  miserable  wretches,  sunk  in 
sin,  and  justly  sentenced  to  destruction.—SxANHOPE's 
Translation. 


ANSLO,  Reinier,  a  Dutch  poet,  born  at  Am- 
sterdam  in  1626;  died  at  Perugia,  Italy,  May  16, 
1669.  In  1649  he  made  a  voyage  to  Italy,  where 
he  acquired  great  reputation,  especially  for  his 
Latin  verses.  Pope  Innocent  X.  gave  him  a  beau- 
tiful gold  medal  for  a  poem  which  he  had  com- 
posed on  the  occasion  of  the  jubilee  celebrated 
in  1650;  and  Queen  Christina,  of  Sweden,  made 
him  a  present  of  a  chain  of  gold  for  a  Dutch 
metrical  composition  which  he  had  addressed  to 
her.  It  has  been  claimed  that  certain  traces  of  a 
secret  leaning  toward  the  Roman  Catholic  re- 
ligion are  discoverable  in  his  verses,  and  there 
is  little  doubt  that  he  was  favorably  disposed 
toward  the  principles  of  those  who  had  treated 
him  so  well  in  his  pilgrimage.  A  collection  of  his 
poems,  in  quarto,  was  published  at  Rotterdam  in 
171 3.  Among  his  earlier  works  were  The  Croivn 
of  Saint  Stephen  the  Martyr,  and  a  poem  on  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  entitled  The  Eve  of 
St.  BartJioloviciv. 

THE    PLAGUE    OF    NAPLES. 

Where  shall  we  hide  us — he  pursuing  ? 
What  darksome  cave,  what  gloomy  ruin? 
It  matters  not :  distress  and  fear 
Are  everywhere. 

Who  now  can  sliield  us  from  the  fury 
That  seems  upon  our  steps  to  hurry? 
Our  brow  exudes  a  frozen  sweat 
On  hearing  it. 

U43) 


REINIER  ANSLO  449 

List  to  that  scream  !  that  broken  crying  : 
Could  not  the  death-gasp  hush  that  sighing? 
Are  these  the  fruits  of  promised  peace  ? 
Oh,  wretchedness  ! 

E'en  as  a  careless  shepherd  sleeping, 
Forgetful  of  the  flocks  he's  keeping, 
Is  smitten  by  the  lightning's  breath  : 
The  bolt  of  death  : 

E'en  as  the  growing  mountain-current 
Pours  down  the  vale  its  giant  torrent, 
And  sweeps  the  thoughtless  flocks  away 
That  slumbering  lay : 

So  were  we  roused  ;  so  woe  descended 
BertDre  the  bridal  feast  was  ended, 
And  Sleep  fell  heavy  :  followed  there 
By  blank  despair. 

— Translation  of  Bowrjw% 


Vol.  I.~»i« 


ANSTEY,  Christopher,  an  English  versifier, 
born  at  Brinkley,  October  31,  1724;  died  at  Chip- 
penham, August  3,  1805.  His  father  was  rector  of 
Brinkley,  in  Cambridgeshire,  and  had  also  a  con- 
siderable landed  property,  which  was  in  time  in- 
herited by  the  son.  He  was  educated  at  Eton, 
from  which  school  he  was  elected  to  King's  Col- 
lege,  Cambridge ;  but  in  consequence  of  some 
quarrel  with  the  authorities  he  did  not  take  his 
degree,  although  he  stood  high  as  a  classical 
scholar.  He  subsequently  entered  the  army; 
then  married  an  heiress,  through  the  influence 
of  whose  family  he  was  returned  to  Parliament. 
His  wealth  and  personal  qualities  gained  him  a 
place  in  the  best  fashionable  and  literary  society 
of  the  day.  He  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  Bath, 
then  the  favorite  watering-place.  He  wrote,  dur- 
ing his  long  and  prosperous  life,  many  **  society 
poems,"  of  which  The  New  Bath  Guide  and  The 
Election  Ball  are  now  worth  remembering.  TJie 
New  Bath  Guide,  published  in  1766,  was  among 
the  most  successful  poems  of  that  age.  Anstey 
received  ;^200  for  the  copyright,  and  he  gave  the 
money  to  the  hospital  at  Bath.  Dodsley,  the 
publisher,  declared  that  the  profits  on  the  sale 
were  greater  than  he  had  ever  gained  in  the  same 
period  by  any  other  book.  Anstey's  New  Bath 
Guide  furnished  the  thought,  and  indeed  not  a  lit- 


CHRISTOPHER  ANSTEY  451 

tie  of  the  actual  material,  which  Smollett,  five 
years  later,  wrought  up  in  his  clever  story  of 
Humphrey  Clinker.  Anstey's  Election  Ballh?^^  quite 
a  number  of  clever  hits  which  may  be  appreciated 
now — a  century  or  more  after  they  were  written : 

THE    PUBLIC    BREAKFAST. 

Now  my  lord  had  the  honor  of  coming  down  post, 

To  pay  his  respects  to  so  famous  a  toast ; 

In  hopes  he  her  Ladyship's  favor  might  win, 

By  playing  the  part  of  a  host  at  an  inn. 

I'm  sure  that  he's  a  person  of  great  resolution, 

Though  delicate  nerves,  and  a  weak  constitution, 

For  he  carried  us  to  a  place  'cross  the  river, 

And  vowed  that  the  rooms  were  too  hot  for  his  liver. 

He  said  it  would  greatly  our  pleasure  promote. 

If  we  all  for  Spring  Gardens  set  out  in  a  boat : 

I  never  as  yet  could  his  reason  explain, 

Why  we  all  sallied  forth  in  the  wind  and  the  rain  ; 

For  sure  such  confusion  was  never  yet  known  ; 

Here  a  cap  and  a  hat,  there  a  cardinal  blown  ; 

While  his  Lordship,  embroidered  and  powdered  all  o'er 

Was  bowing,  and  handing  the  ladies  ashore.     .     .     . 

You've  read  all  their  names  in  the  news  I  suppose: 

But  for  fear  you  have  not,  take  the  list  as  it  goes. 

There  was  Lady  Greasewrister, 

And  Madame  Van-Twister, 

Her  Ladyship's  sister  ; 

Lord  Cram,  and  Lord  Vulture, 

Sir  Brandish  O'Cultur, 

With  Marshal  Carouzer, 

And  old  Lady  Touzer  ; 
And  the  great  Hanoverian  Baron  Panzmowzer; 
Besides  many  others  who  all  in  the  rain  went, 
On  purpose  to  honor  this  great  entertainment. 
The  company  made  a  most  brilliant  appearance 
And  ate  bread-and-butter  with  great  perseverance  ; 
And  the  chocolate,  too,  that  my  Lord  sat  before  'en\ 
The  ladies  despatched  with  the  utmost  decorum. 


452  CHRISIOPHER  AySVEV 

Soft  musical  numbers  were  heard  all  around 

The  horns'  and  the  clarions'  echoing  sound.     .     .     . 

Oh,  had  I  a  voice  that  was  stronger  than  steel, 

With  twice  fifty  tongues  to  express  what  I  feel, 

And  as  many  good  mouths,  yet  I  never  could  utter 

All  the  speeches  my  Lord  made  to  Lady  Bunbutter  ! 

So  polite  all  the  time  that  he  ne'er  touched  a  bit, 

While  she  ate  up  his  rolls  and  applauded  his  wit ; 

For  they  tell  me  that  men  of  true  taste,  when  they  treat, 

Should  talk  a  great  deal,  but  they  never  should  eat.  .  .  . 

So  when  we  had  wasted  more  bread  at  a  breakfast 

Than  the  poor  of  our  parish  have  ate  for  this  week  past, 

I  saw,  all  at  once,  a  prodigious  great  throng 

Come  bustling  and  rustling  and  jostling  along  ; 

For  his  Lordship  was  pleased  that  the  company  now 

To  my  Lady  Bunbutter  should  curtsey  and  bow  ; 

And  my  Lady  was  pleased  too,  and  seemed  vastly  proud 

At  once  to  receive  all  the  thanks  of  a  crowd. 

And  when,  like  Chaldeans,  we  all  had  adored 

This  bt_autiful  image  set  up  by  my  Lord, 

Some  few  insignificant  folk  went  away. 

Just  to  follow  the  employments  and  calls  of  the  day.  .  .  . 

Now  why  should  the  Muse — my  dear  mother — relate 

The  misfortunes  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  Great  t 

As  homeward  we  came — 'tis  with  sorrow  you'll  hear 

What  a  dreadful  disaster  attended  the  Peer  : 

For  whether  some  envious  god  had  decreed 

That  a  Naiad  should  long  to  ennoble  her  breed  ; 

Or  whether  his  Lordship  was  charmed  to  behold 

His  face  in  the  stream,  like  Narcissus  of  old  ; 

In  handing  old  Lady  Comefidget  and  daughter, 

This  obsequious  Lord  tumbled  into  the  water  ; 

But  a  Nymph   of  the  Flood  brought  him   safe  to  the 

boat ; 
And  I  left  all  the  Ladies  a-cleaning  his  coat. 


ANTAR,  or  ANTARA,  an  Arabian  poet  and 
soldier,  who  is  supposed  to  have  died  a  little  be- 
fore the  time  of  Mohammed's  flight  to  Medina. 
He  is  the  hero  of  a  romance  which  Mohammed 
instructed  his  disciples  to  teach  to  their  children, 
which  is  known  by  every  Bedouin  of  the  desert, 
which  is  repeated  night  after  night  by  the  pro- 
fessional narrators  of  Bagdad  and  Constantinople, 
and  is  familiar  wherever  the  Arabic  language  is 
spoken.  This  romance,  supposed  to  have  been 
written  b}^  Asmai,  preceptor  to  Haroun-al-Raschid, 
makes  Antar  the  son  of  the  warrior  Shedad-el- 
Absi  and  the  Abyssinian  slave  Zabuba.  Being 
brought  into  disgrace,  while  still,  with  his  mother, 
in  slavery,  by  having  fallen  in  love  with  his  beau- 
tiful cousin  Abla,  he  began  to  seek  opportunities  of 
signallizing  himself  as  a  soldier  and  as  a  poet ;  and, 
rising  in  favor,  he  filled  the  country  with  the  fame 
of  his  song  and  his  sword.  By  some  Arabic 
historians  he  is  said  to  have  been  killed,  and 
by  others  to  have  died  naturally  of  old  age.  In 
literature  Antar  is  renowned  as  the  author  of  one 
of  the  seven  great  poems  hung  up  in  the  Kaaba 
at  Mecca,  and  known  as  the  suspended  poems. 

antor's  love  for  his  cousin  ibla. 

When  the  breezes  blow  from  Mount  Saadi,  their 
freshness  calms  the  fire  of  my  love  and  transports.  Let 
my  tribe  remember  I  have  preserved  their  faith  ;  but 
they  feel  not  my  worth,  and  preserve  not  their  engage- 

(433) 


454  ANTAR 

ments  with  me.  Were  there  not  a  maid  settled  in  the 
tents,  why  should  I  prefer  their  society  to  absence  ? 
Slimly  made  is  she,  and  the  magic  influence  of  her  eye 
preserves  the  bones  of  a  corpse  from  entering  the 
tomb.  The  sun  as  it  sets,  turns  towards  her,  and  says  : 
"  Darkness  obscures  the  land  ;  do  thou  rise  in  my 
absence  ;  "  and  the  brilliant  moon  calls  out  to  her  : 
"  Come  forth  ;  for  thy  face  is  like  me  when  I  am  at 
the  full,  and  in  all  my  glory  !  "  The  Tamarisk  trees 
complain  of  her  in  the  morn  and  the  eve,  and  say  : 
"  Away,  thou  waning  beauty,  thou  form  of  the  laurel  !  " 
She  turns  away  abashed,  and  throws  aside  her  veil,  and 
the  roses  are  scattered  from  her  soft  fair  cheeks.  She 
draws  her  sword  from  the  glances  of  her  eyelashes, 
sharp  and  penetrating  as  the  blade  of  her  forefathers, 
and  with  it  her  eyes  commit  murder,  though  it  be 
sheathed  :  is  it  not  surprising  that  a  sheathed  sword 
should  be  so  sharp  against  its  victims  !  Graceful  is 
every  limb,  slender  her  waist,  love-beaming  are  her 
glances,  waving  is  her  form.  The  damsel  passes  the 
night  with  musk  under  her  veil,  and  its  fragrance  is  in- 
creased by  the  still  fresher  essence  of  her  breath.  The 
lustre  of  day  sparkles  from  her  forehead,  and  by  the 
dark  shades  of  her  curling  ringlets  night  itself  is  driven 
away.  When  she  smiles,  between  her  teeth  is  a  moist- 
ure composed  of  wine,  of  rain,  and  of  honey.  Her 
throat  complains  of  the  darkness  of  her  necklaces. 
Alas  !  alas  !  the  effects  of  that  throat  and  that  neck- 
lace !  Will  fortune  ever,  O  daughter  of  Malik,  ever 
bless  me  with  thy  embrace,  that  would  cure  my  heart  of 
the  sorrows  of  love?  If  my  eye  could  see  her  baggage 
camels,  and  her  family,  I  would  rub  my  cheeks  on  the 
hoofs  of  her  camels.  I  will  kiss  the  earth  where  thou 
art ;  mayhap  the  fire  of  my  love  and  ecstasy  may  be 
quenched.  Shall  thou  and  I  ever  meet  as  formerly  on 
Mount  Saadi  ?  or  will  the  messenger  come  from  thee  to 
announce  thy  meeting,  or  will  he  relate  that  thou  art  in 
the  land  of  Nejd  ?  Shall  we  meet  in  the  land  of  Shu- 
reba  and  Hima,  and  shall  we  live  in  joy  and  happiness? 
I  am  the  well-known  Antar,  the  chief  of  his  tribe,  and  I 
shall  die  ;  but  when  I  am  gone,  history  shall  tell  of  me. — 
Translated  from  the  Arabic  by  IIerrick  Hamilton. 


ANTHOLOGY  (Gr.  literally  "  Flower-Gather- 
ings  ").  A  collection  of  small  poems,  forming,  as 
it  were,  a  kind  of  bouquet  or  garland.  Such  col- 
lections exist  in  many  languages;  but  the  term  is 
more  specifically  used  to  denote  the  famous  col- 
lection of  the  minor  Greek  poets,  of  most  of  whom 
only  a  few  fragments  are  extant.  Not  a  few  of 
these  consist  of  a  single  couplet,  often  originally 
an  inscription  upon  some  monument,  as  that 
composed  by  Simonides  and  placed  by  Miltiades 
upon  a  statue  of  Pan  erected  on  the  battle-field 
of  Marathon : 

Me,  goat-foot  Pan  of  Arcady — the  Median's  fear — 
The  Athenians'  friend,  Miltiades,  placed  here. 

Still  more  famous  is  the  inscription,  also  by 
Simonides,  upon  a  monument  erected  over  the  re- 
mains of  those  Spartans  who  fell  at  Thermopylae  : 

Go,  stranger,  and  to  Lacedsemon  tell 
That  here,  obedient  to  her  laws,  we  fell. 

Another,  also  attributed  to  Simonides,  com- 
memorates the  Corinthians  who  fell  at  the  naval 
battle  of  Salamis : 

Well-watered  Corinth  was  our  home  before  ; 
We  lie  on  Salamis's  Aiantian  shore. — 
The  ships  of  Tyre,  the  Persian,  and  the  Mede 
We  routed  ;  and  thus  sacred  Greece  was  freed. 

Not  a  few  of  the  poems  in  the  Greek  Anthology 
arc  votive  inscriptions  hung  above  some  offering 

C455> 


456  ANTHOLOGY 

to  the  gods  in  gratitude  for  some  great  deliver 
ance,  or  to  propitiate  their  favor  in  the  future. 
Thus  an  epigram,  by  Lucian,  records  a  humble 
thank-offering  from  one  who  had  been  saved  from 
shipwreck  : 

To  Glaucus,  Nereus,  Ino,  and  to  Melicerte,  as  well 
To  Neptune,  and  the  mystic  powers  in  Samothrace  that 

dwell— 
Grateful  that,  from  the  sea  preserved,  he  now  on  shore 

can  live, 
Lucilluscutsandgives  these  hairs: — 'tis  all  he  has  to  give. 

Three  brothers — hunters  and  fishers — dedicate 
the  implements  of  their  craft  to  the  silvan  deity 
Pan.  The  inscription  on  the  votive  tablet  is  by 
Leonidas,  though  the  general  idea  is  expressed  by 
other  iDoets,  with  more  or  less  of  variation  : 

Three  brothers  dedicate,  O  Pan,  to  thee 

Their  nets — the  various  emblems  of  their  toil  : — 

Pigr^s,  v/ho  brings  from  realms  of  air  his  spoil  : 

Dam^s  from  woods,  and  Clitor  from  the  sea. 

So  may  the  treasures  of  the  deep  be  given 

To  this ;  to  those  the  spoils  of  earth  and  heaven. 

An  epigram,  ascribed  to  no  less  an  author  than 
Plato,  has  been  often  imitated.  It  purports  to  be 
by  Lais,  the  famous  courtesan,  at  a  time  when  her 
charms  had  begun  to  wane : 

I,  Lais,  who  smiled  at  Greece  with  scornful  pride, 
I,  at  whose  doors  a  swarm  of  lovers  sighed, 
This  glass  to  Venus  give  :■— That  which  I  shall  be 
I  would  not — what  I  was  I  cannot — see. 

Lafs  has  been  commemorated  in  a  stinging 
epitaph  by  Antipater  of  Sidon  : 

Lai's,  who  walked  in  gold  and  purple  dyes, 
Here  on  her  sea-girt  Corinth  lowly  lies; 


ANTHOLOGY  A! 

The  pampered  friend  of  Eros,  whom  that  elf 
Nurtured  more  daintily  than  Venus's  self. 
Brighter  this  human  goddess  than  the  stream, 
Which  in  Pirene  sheds  its  fulgent  gleam  ; 
And  wooers  more  she  had  who  sought  her  arms, 
Than  ever  sighed  for  brilliant  Helen's  charms ; 
And  man}?-  revelled  in  those  graces — sold 
For  the  false  glare  of  all-subduing  gold. 
Even  in  her  ashes  live  the  rich  perfume 
Of  odors  ever  floating  round  her  tomb  : 
Steeped  are  her  locks  in  myrrh  ;  the  buxom  air 
Inhales  the  fragrance  of  her  essenced  hair ; 
And  when  she  died,  Cythera  near  her  stood 
With  grief-soiled  cheeks,  and  Eros  sobbed  aloud. — 
Oh  !  if  those  charms  so  many  had  not  bought, 
Greece  had  for  Lais  as  for  Helen  fought. 

Votive  offerings  were  frequent  upon  occasions 
ot  approaching  nuptials,  and  they  called  forth 
not  a  few  of  the  prettiest  effusions  of  the  Greet 
versifiers.     Here  is  one  by  an  anonymous  poet: 

Timaret^ — her  wedding-day  now  near — 
To  Artemis  has  laid  these  offerings  here  : 
Her  tambourine,  her  pleasant  ball ;  the  net 
As  a  safe  guardian  o'er  her  tresses  set ; 
Her  girlish  dolls,  in  mimic  robes  arrayed  : 
Gifts  fitting  for  a  maid  to  give  a  maid. — 
Goddess,  thy  hands  upon  her  kindly  lay 
And  keep  her  holy  in  thy  holy  way. 

Leonidas  of  Tarentum  has  left  numerous  grace 
ful  inscriptions  of  this  class.  This,  which  tells  its 
own  story,  is  addressed  to  Rhea,  the  Mother  oi 
the  Gods : 

O  holy  Mother  !  on  the  peak 
Of  Dindyma,  and  on  those  summits  bleak 

That  frown  on  Phrygia's  scorched  plain. 
Holding  thy  throne  :  with  favoring  aspect  deigD 

To  smile  on  Aristodice, 

Silene's  virjjin  child,  that  she 


458  ANTHOLOGY 

May  grow  in  beauty,  and  her  charms  improve 
To  fulness,  and  invite  connubial  love. 
For  this  she  seeks  thy  porch,  with  tributes  rare, 
And  o'er  thine  altars  strews  her  votive  hair. 

And  this  is  addressed  to  the  goddess  who  pre- 
sides over  child-birth,  by  a  matron  who  had  safely 
given  birth  to  twins  : 

Here,  Ilethyia  !  at  thy  noble  feet 

Ambrosia  lays  a  grateful  offering  meet — 

A  robe  and  head-dress,  favored  by  thy  power 

In  the  sore  travail  of  her  perilous  hour ; 

And  in  due  season  strengthened  to  bring  forth 

A  double  offspring  at  a  happy  birth. 

Agathias  commemorates  a  triple  offering  de- 
voted by  a  happy  wife  and  mother  to  the  three 
goddesses  who  had  crowned  her  life  with  glad- 
ness. It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  original 
Greek  idea  of  Aphrodite  was  wholly  devoid  of 
that  grossness  which  came  in  time  to  be  the  pre- 
vailing characteristic  of  the  conception  of  the 
Goddess  of  Love. 

To  Aphrodite  garlands,  braids  of  clustering  hair 

To  Pallas,  and  her  zone  to  Artemis, 
Callirhoe  gave  :  Fit  tributes  offered  there, 
Whence  to  her  lot  had  fallen  a  triple  bliss. — 
A  loved  and  loving  suitor  she  had  wed, 
In  modest  purity  her  life  was  led 
And  a  male  race  of  children  blessed  her  bed. 

The  shorn-off  hair  was  a  frequent  and  natural 
offering.  Youths  also  offered  the  first  clippings 
of  their  beards — the  first-fruits,  so  to  speak,  and 
tokens  of  adolescence.  Thus  an  anonymous  epi- 
gram says,  with  a  fine  moral  added : 

Lycon,  the  rising  down  that  first  appeared 
To  Phoebus  gave — the  presage  of  a  beard  ; 


ANTHOLOGY  459 

And  prayed  that  so  he  might  in  after  years 
On  his  gray  locks — as  now — employ  the  shears. 
Grant  this  request,  and  on  his  age  bestow 
The  honor  that  should  crown  a  head  of  snow. 

When  the  youth  laid  away  childish  things  he 
w<as  wont  to  make  an  offering  of  his  toys  to 
Hermes,  as  the  maiden  did  of  hers  to  Artemis. 
Leonidas  of  Tarentum  makes  mention  of  this  cus- 
tom : 

To  Hermes,  this  fair  ball  of  pleasant  sound, 
This  box-wood  rattle,  fraught  with  lively  noise, 

These  maddening  dice,  this  top,  well-whirling  round, 
Philocles  here  hangs  up  his  boyhood's  toys. 

As  the  youth  dedicated  his  toys,  so  the  worn- 
out  old  man  dedicated  the  implements  of  his  craft 
which  he  could  no  longer  use.     Thus: 

Old  Cy  liras  to  the  Nymphs  this  net.     No  more 
His  strength  can  stand  the  toils  that  once  it  bore. — 
Rejoice,  ye  fishes,  sporting  in  the  sea  ! 
From  danger  at  his  hands  you  now  are  free. 

An  epigram  by  Macedonius  describes  the  offer- 
ing to  Poseidon,  by  an  old  sailor,  of  the  ship  in 
which  he  had  long  voyaged  from  land  to  land : 

King  of  the  sea,  and  Ruler  of  the  shore, 
This  ship,  ordained  to  touch  the  waves  no  more, 
I,  Crantas,  give  to  thee  : — a  ship  long  driven 
In  sport  before  the  wandering  winds  of  heaven  ; 
In  which,  oft  sailing,  I  have  thought,  with  dread, 
I  soon  might  reach  the  regions  of  the  dead. 
Renouncing  winds  and  waves,  and  hope  and  fear, 
Now  on  dry  land  I  fix  my  footsteps  here. 

A  votive  inscription  by  Gaetulicus  tells  its  own 
story  : 

Alcon  beheld  his  boy,  while  laid  at  rest, 
Close  in  a  deadly  serpent's  folds  comprest; 


46o  ANTHOLOGY 

He  bent  his  bow  with  hand  that  thrilled  with  dread. 
But  did  not  miss  his  mark  ;  the  arrow  sped 
Right  through  the  monster's  jaws  with  prosperous  aim- 
Near,  but  not  touching  the  dear  infant's  frame. 
His  quiver,  fraught  with  shafts  devised  to  kill, 
Hangs  on  this  oak,  released  from  working  ill — 
A  record  of  good  fortune  and  good  skill. 

A  traveller,  almost  perishing  with  thirst,  was 
guided  by  the  croaking  of  a  frog  to  a  spring  of 
water.  In  gratitude  for  this  relief  he  dedicated 
a  bronze  image  of  a  frog  to  the  nymphs  of  the 
spring,  with  this  inscription  by  Plato — not  the 
philosopher,  but  another  poet  of  the  same  name : 

The  servant  of  the  Nymphs,  who  loves  the  showers. 

The  minstrel  moist,  who  lurks  in  watery  bowers — 

A  frog  in  bronze,  a  Avayfarer  here  laid. 

Whose  burning  thirst  was  quenched  by  welcome  aid, 

By  the  hoarse  monitor's  amphibious  tone 

A  hidden  spring  was  to  the  wanderer  shown  ; 

He  followed,  nor  forsook  the  guiding  sound 

Till  the  much  wished-for  draught  he  grateful  found. 

Leonidas  of  Tarentum  gracefully  commemo- 
rates an  offering  made  to  the  river-nymphs  by  a 
traveller  who  had  quenched  his  thirst  at  their 
waters: 

Cool  stream,  where  waters  from  the  cleft  rock  start — 

Forms,  too,  of  Naiads,  carved  by  rustic  art — 

Ye  fountain-heads,  and  countless  spots  around, 

Made  lovely  by  your  rills  that  here  abound — 

Farewell !  and  from  a  wayfarer  receive 

The  horn  which  here  he  dipped,  his  hot  thirst  to  relieve. 

Inscriptions  for  fountains  with  shady  retreats 
were  favorite  subjects  with  the  anthologists. 
Here  are  two  by  Anyt6  of  Tegea,  a  poetess,  who 
lived  about  70c  3.C. 


ANTHOLOGY  461 

To  shaggy  Pan,  and  to  the  Fold-Nymphs  fair, 
Fast  by  this  rock  a  shepherd's  offering  stands  ; 

Theudotus's  gift  to  those  who  gave  him  there 

Rest,  when  he  fainted  in  the  sultry  air. 
And  reached  him  sweetest  water  with  their  hands. 

Epitaphs,  or  sepulchral  inscriptions,  are  numer- 
ous in  the  Greek  Anthology.  Among  the  most 
noted  is  that  upon  Prot6,  whose  name  signifies  "  the 
€rGt,"  and  who  was  probably  a  first-born  daughter: 

Prot6,  thou  art  not  dead  ;  but  thou  hast  passed 
To  better  lands,  where  pleasures  ever  last ; 
To  bound  in  joy  amidst  the  fairest  flowers 
Of  the  Blest  Isles — Elysium's  blooming  bowers. 
Thee  nor  the  Summer's  heat  nor  Winter's  chill 
Shall  e'er  annoy,  exempt  from  every  ill. 
Nor  sickness,  hunger,  thirst  again  distress  ; 
Nor  dost  thou  long  for  earthly  happiness. 
Contented  thou,  remote  from  human  woes, 
In  the  pure  light  which  from  Olympus  flows. 

The  departuieof  those  who  die  young  furnishes 
the  theme  of  numerous  epitaphs  in  the  Anthol- 
ogy. In  the  following,  by  Lucian,  the  dead  child 
is  represented  as  speaking  words  of  consolation, 
presumably  to  his  parents : 

A  boy  of  five  years  old,  serene  and  gay, 
Unpitying  Hades  hurried  me  away, 
Yet  weep  not  for  Callimachus  :  if  few 
The  days  I  lived,  few  were  my  sorrows  too. 

A  touching  threnody  by  Anyt6  of  Tegea  com- 
memorates a  friend  who  died  in  her  maiden 
bloom : 

The  maid  Antibia  I  lament ;  for  whom 

Full  many  a  suitor  sought  her  father's  hall. 

For  beauty,  prudence,  famed  was  she,  but  doom 
Destructive  overwhelmed  the  hopes  of  all. 


462  AXTHO/.OGY 

The  following,  by  Paul  the  Silentiar}',  though  of 
comparatively  modern  date,  is  conceived  in  the 
purest  antique  spirit: 

Thy  bier,  and  not  thy  bridal  bed,  sweet  maid. 
With  grieving  hands  thy  parents  have  arrayed. 
Thou  from  Hfe's  troubles  and  from  childbirth's  pains 
Escapest :  for  them  a  cloud  of  woes  remains. 
Fate,  at  thy  twelfth  year,  wrapped  thee  in  mould  ; 
In  beauty  young ;  in  moral  merits  old. 

We  find  in  the  Anthology  elegiacs  upon  brides 
who  are  called  away  close  upon  their  nuptials. 
This  is  by  Errinna,  a  bosom  friend  of  the  dead 
girl: 

The  virgin  Baucis's  sepulchre  am  I : 

Creep  softly  to  the  pillared  mount  of  woe, 
And  whisper  to  the  grave,  in  earth  below : 

"Grave  !  thou  art  envious  in  thy  cruelty  !" 
To  thee  now  gazing  here,  her  barbarous  fate 
These  brides*  adornments  tell :  That  with  the  fire 

Of  Hymen's  torch,  which  led  her  to  the  gate 
Her  husband  burned  the  maid  upon  her  pyre. 

Yes,  Hymen  !  thou  didst  change  the  marriag«-«OTi| 

To  the  shrill  wailings  of  the  mourner's  song. 

The  same  thought  is  even  better  expres&cd  1» 
a  threnody  by  Meleager: 

Her  virgin  zone  unloosed,  Cleaera's  charms 
Death  clasps — stern  bridegroom — in  his  iron  arms. 
Hymns  at  the  bridal  doors  last  night  were  sung  ; 
Last  night  the  bridal  roof  with  revels  rung  : 
This  morn  the  wail  was  raised  ;  and,  hushed  and  low, 
The  strains  of  joy  were  changed  to  moans  of  woe  ; 
And  the  bright  torch  to  Hymen's  hall  which  led. 
With  mournful  glare  now  lighted  to  the  dead. 


ANTHOLOGY  463 

The  following  is  ascribed  to  Sappho : 

Deep  in  the  dreary  chambers  of  the  dead 
Asteria's  ghost  has  made  her  bridal  bed  ; 
Still  to  this  stone  her  fond  compeers  may  turn, 
And  shed  their  cherished  tresses  on  her  urn. 

The  following,  by  an  unknown  author,  is  among 
the  most  exquisite  of  the  Greek  sepulchral  in- 
scriptions : 

This  is  Popillia's  tomb.     My  husband's  care 
Framed  it — Oceanus,  of  wisdom  rare. 
Here  rest  my  ashes  ;  but  the  Shades  below, 
Hearing  my  hymns,  thy  goodness,  friend,  shall  know. 
Think  of  me,  husband  ;  and  while  here. 
Drop,  on  the  tomb  I  fill,  the  frequent  tear ; 
And  say  "  Popillia  slumbers."     Never  think 
That  the  good  die  :  to  happy  sleep  they  sink. 

A  fragment  of  Callimachus  is  preserved  in  the 
Anthology  in  this  elegy  upon  his  literary  friend, 
Heraclitus  of  Halicarnassus,  written  upon  receiv- 
ing tidings  of  the  latter's  death,  soon  after  his  re- 
turn to  his  native  land.  It  calls  to  remembrance 
the  pleasant  hours  they  had  spent  together  when 
Heraclitus  was  the  guest  of  Callimachus  at  Alex- 
andria : 

One  told  me,  Heraclitus,  of  thy  fate. 

Which  brought  the  tear  into  my  eye  to  think 
How  oft  we  two — conversing  long  and  late — 

Have  seen  the  sun  into  his  chamber  sink. 
But  that  is  past  and  gone,  and  somewhere  thou, 
Halicarnassian  guest,  art  ashes  now. 
Yet  live  these  nightingales  of  thine  :  on  these 
The  all-grasping  hand  of  Hades  will  not  seize. 

The  Greeks  were  notably  a  maritime  people, 
and  epitaphs  upon  fishermen  and  sailors  fill  no  lit- 


464  ANTHOLOGY 

tie  space  in  the  Anthology.  Allusion  is  often 
made  to  the  wearisome  lives  of  these  toilers  of  the 
sea.     The  following  is  by  Poseidippus : 

Oh,  why,  my  brother  mariners,  so  near  the  boisterous 

wave 
Of  ocean  have  ye  hollowed  out  my  soUtary  grave  ? 
'Twere  better  much    that  farther  off  a   sailor's  tomb 

should  be  ; 
For  I  dread  my  rude  destroyer  ;  I  dread  the  roaring  sea. 
JBut  may  the  smiles  of  fortune,  and  may  love  and  peace 

await 
AH  you  who  shed  a  pitying  tear  for  Nicetas's  fate. 

The  two  following  are  ascribed  to  Plato,  but  it 
is  by  no  means  certain  whether  we  are  to  under- 
stand the  philosopher  of  that  name.  The  first  is 
certainly  not  unworthy  of  him  : 

I  am  a  shipwrecked  sailor's  tomb ;  a  peasant's  there 

doth  stand  : 
Thus  the  same  world  of  Hades  lies  beneath  sea  and  land. 

Ye  mariners  !  by  sea  and  lands,  be  yours  a  happy  doom  : 
But  know  you  now  are  sailing  past  a  shipwrecked  sea- 
man's tomb. 

This  by  Callimachus: 

Would  that  swift  ships  had  never  been  ;  for  so 
We  ne'er  had  wept  for  Sopolis.     But  he 

Dead  on  the  waves  now  drifts  ;  while  we  must  go 
Past  a  void  tomb — a  mere  name's  mockery. 

In  this,  by  Sappho,  the  thought  is  brought  to 
the  extremest  point  of  condensation  : 

Here,  to  the  fisher  Pelagon,  her  sire — Meniscos — laid 
A  wicker-net  and  oar,  to  show  his  weary  trade. 

Slavery  was  a  predominant  feature  of  Greek 
social    life.      The    inscriptions   upon    the   tombs 


ANTHOLOGY  465 

of  slaves  are  not,  however,  numerous;  but  some 
of  them  are  characteristic.  This  is  by  Damas- 
kios: 

Zosima  when  living  was  only  in  bndy  chained : 
Now  in  body  also,  her  freedom  hath  she  gained. 

This,  by  Anyte,  is  upon  some  Persian  slave: 

Manes,  when  living  was  a  slave  :  dead  now, 
Great  King  Darius,  he's  as  great  as  thou. 

This,  which  is  anonymous,  is  put  into  the  mouth 
of  another  Persian  slave,  a  fire-worshipper,  appar- 
ently of  noble  lineage,  who  bore  the  name  of  the 
great  river  upon  whose  banks  he  had  dwelt : 

Burn  not  Euphrates,  master  :  let  not  fire 
Be  here  polluted  for  my  funeral  pyre. — 
A  Persian  born,  of  Persia's  genuine  race, 
Fire  to  profane,  to  me  were  dire  disgrace. 
Lay  me  in  earth  ;  nor  e'er  bring  water  here 
To  wash  me  :  rivers  also  I  revere. 

Yet  ancient  slavery  was  not — any  more  than 
modern — without  its  genial  side.  This  is  set  forth 
in  the  two  following  epitaphs  by  Dioscorides : 

A  slave — a  Lydian — yet  my  master  gave 
To  me,  who  fostered  him,  a  freeman's  grave. 
Master  !  live  long  ;  and  when  on  life's  decline 
You  come  to  Hades,  there  I'll  still  be  thine. 

The  same  general  thought  is  touchingly  ex- 
pressed in  an  epitaph  by  an  unknown  writer: 

Master !  to  thee  still  faithful  I  remain 
In  death  ;  and  still  my  grateful  thoughts  retain 
How,  rescued  thrice  from  fell  disease  by  thee, 
I  fill  this  cell,  where  passers-by  may  see 
Manes,  the  Persian's  tomb  :  for  such  good  deed 
Service  more  true  from  all  will  be  thy  meed. 
Vol.  I. — 30 


466  ANTHOLOGY. 

The  amatory  poems  in  the  Greek  Anthology 
are  very  numerous.  Probably  the  best  are  by 
Anacreon,  and  have  been  touched  upon  under  his 
name.  The  passion  of  love  is  usually  personified 
as  Eros,  or  Cupid.  Some  of  the  best  of  these 
poems  are  by  Meleager,  who  lived  in  the  first  cen- 
tury B.  c.     We  quote  a  few  of  these  : 

Dreadful  is  Eros  !  dreadful !  but  where's  the  good 
That  oft  this  cry  of  "dreadful !  "  is  renewed? 
The  urchin  laughs  at  us.     Though  o'er  and  o'er 
Reproached,    he's   pleased ;    reviled,    he    thrives   the 
more. 

Again : 

No  wonder  Cupid  is  a  murderous  boy ; 

A  fiery  archer,  making  pain  his  joy. 

His  dam,  while  fond  of  Mars,  is  Vulcan's  wife; 

And  thus,  'twixt  fire  and  sword,  divides  her  life. 

His  mother's  mother,  too :  Why,  that's  the  Sea ! 

When  lashed  with  winds,  a  roaring  fury  she. 

No  father  has  he,  and  no  father's  kin  : 

'Tis  through  his  mother  all  his  faults  flow  in. 

Thus  has  he  Vulcan's  flames ;  the  wild  Sea's  rage ; 

And  Mars's  blood-stained  darts  his  wars  on  us  to  wage. 

In  a  quite  different  strain  is  the  following,  ad- 
dressed to  Heliodora,  whose  death  he  laments  in 
another  poem  : 

I'll  frame,  my  Heliodora!  a  garland  for  thy  hair 
Which  thou,  in  all  thy  beauty's  pride,  mayst  not  disdain 

to  wear: 
For  I,  with  tender  myrtles,  white  violets  will  twine — 
White   violets,    but   not   so   pure   as   that    pure  breast  of 

thine; 
With    laughing   lilies   I   will   twine    narcissus;    and    the 

sweet 
Crocus  shall  in  its  hue  with  purple  hyacinth  meet ; 


ANTHOLOGY.  467 

And   I   will    twine   with   all   the   rest — and    all    the    rest 

above — 
Queen  of  them  all,  the  red,  red  rose — the  flower  which 

lovers  love. 

The  following,  by  Callistratus,  has  often  been 
imitated  and  expanded  by  later  poets  in  all  lan- 
guages : 

I  wish  I  were  an  ivory  lyre, 

A  lyre  of  burnished  ivory, 
That  to  the  Dionysian  choir 

Blooming  boys  might  carry  me. — 
O  would  I  were  a  chalice  bright 
Of  virgin  gold  by  fire  untried, 
For  virgin  chaste  as  morning  light 
To  bear  me  to  the  altar  side. 

Laudations  of  the  great  names  in  Greek  poetry 
abound  in  the  Anthology.  Only  a  few  of  the 
briefest  of  these  have  a  quaint  turn.  Thus,  of 
Homer : 

I,   Phoebus,   sang   those   songs   that    gained    sq   much  re- 
nown ; 
I,  I'hcebus,  sang  them ;  Homer  only  wrote  them  down. 

Homer  so  sang  of  Troy  destroyed  by  fire, 
That  envy  seized  the  towns  that  stood  entire. 

Seven    cities   vied    for    Homer's    birth,    with    emulation 

pious : 
Salamis,  Saraos,  Colophon,  Rhodes,  Argos,  Athens,  Chios. 

Upon  .^schylus  ;  both  by  Dioscorides  : 

Thespis's  invention,  and  the  sylvan  plays. 

And  Bacchic  games  that  gained  the  rustic's  praise, 

iEschylus  raised  aloft,  and  nobler  made ; 

Not  bringing  carved  and  curious  words  to  aid. 

But  like  a  torrent  rushing  down  with  force, 

And  stirring  all  things  in  its  mighty  course, 

He  changed  the  stage's  forms.     O  voice  sublime, 

Fit  for  a  demigod  of  ancient  time. 


468 


ANTHOLOGY 


This  tombstone  tells,  "  Here  ^schylus  is  laid," 
By  Gela's  streams,  from  his  own  land  afar: 

Illustrious  bard  !  what  envious  fate  has  made 
Athenians  ever  with  good  men  at  war  ? 

Inscription  for  the  cenotaph  of  Euripides: 

This  tombstone  is  no  monument  of  thee  ; 

But  thou  of  it,  Euripides,  shalt  be  ; 

Thy  glory  clothes  it,  and  men  come  to  see. 

This,  upon  Aristophanes,  is  ascribed  to  Plato: 

The  Graces  sought  some  holy  ground, 

Whose  site  should  ever  please  ; 
And  in  their  search  the  soul  they  found 

Of  Aristophanes. 

Upon  Sappho  ;  by  various  authors : 

Sappho  my  name,  in  song  o'er  women  held 
As  far  supreme  as  Homer  men  excelled. 

This  tomb  reveals  where  Sappho's  ashes  lie, 
But  her  sweet  words  of  wisdom  ne'er  will  die. 

Some  thoughtlessly  proclaim  the  Muses  nine  ; 
A  tenth  is  Sappho,  maid  divine. 

Upon  Herodotus,  whose  history  is  in  nine 
books,  each  bearing  the  name  of  one  of  the  Muses: 

The  Muses  to  Herodotus  one  day 
Came — Nine  of  them — and  dined  ; 

And  in  return,  their  host  to  pay, 
Left  each  a  book  behind. 

Upon  Plato,  vv^ho,  according  to  legend,  was  the 
son  not  of  a  mortal  father,  but,  like  JEsculapius, 
of  Apollo : 

^sculapius  and  Plato  too,  Phoebus  to  mortals  gave. 
That  one  the  body,  one  the  soul   from  ipaladies  might 
save. 


ANTHOLOGY  469 

Epigrams  upon  works  of  art  are  not  numerous. 
Among  them  is  one  by  an  unknown  writer,  upon 
two  statues — one  of  Bacchus,  the  other  of  Pallas 
— which  stood  near  each  other  in  some  public 
place.  The  epigrammatist  asks  of  the  former 
what  reason  there  could  have  been  for  this  juxta- 
position, and  gives  the  explanation  made  by  the 
God  of  Wine: 

"  Say  Bacchus,  why  so  placed  ?    What  can  there  be 
In  common  held  by  Pallas  and  by  thee? 
Her  pleasure  is  in  darts  and  battles;  thine 
In  joyous  feasts  and  draughts  of  rosy  wine." 

*'  Stranger,  not  rashly  of  the  gods  thus  speak ; 
Our  mutual  likeness  is  not  far  to  seek  : 
I  too  in  battle  glory;  Indians  know 
In  me,  to  ocean's  edge,  a  conquering  foe. 
Mankind  we  both  have  blessed  :  the  olive  she 
Has  given  ;  the  vine's  sweet  clusters  come  from  me. 
Nor  she  nor  I  e'er  caused  a  mother's  pains : 
I  from  Jove's  thigh  produced,  she  from  his  brains." 

The  sculptor  Praxiteles  executed  several  statues 
of  Venus;  one  of  these,  which  was  entirely  nude, 
was  set  up  at  Cnidos.  The  Goddess  of  Love  is 
said  to  have  gone  to  view  this  nude  figure  to  her- 
self. Upon  this  there  are  several  epigrams.  The 
best  of  them  is  ascribed  to  Plato: 

The  Paphian  Queen  to  Cnidos  made  repair. 
Across  the  tide  to  see  her  image  there : 
Then  looking  up  and  round  the  prospect  wide, 
"Where  did  Praxiteles  see  me  thus?"  she  cried. 

The  following,  on  the  same  subject,  is  briefeJ 
and  more  pointed : 

Said  Venus,  when  Venus  in  Cnidos  she  viewed : 
"Fie  !  where  did  Praxiteles  see  me  thus  nude?" 


470  ANTHOLOGY, 

The  statue  of  the  Olympian  Jove,  by  Phidias, 
was  the  most  famous  one  of  all  antiquity.  Upon  this 
there  is  this  epigram  : 

Either  Zeus  came  to  earth  to  show  his  form  to  thee, 
Phidias,  or  thou  to  heaven  hast  gone  the  god  to  see. 

The  following  epigram,  by  Achelaus,  is  upon  a 
bronze  statue  of  Alexander  the  Great: 

Lysippiis  formed  in  bronze  the  courage  high 

Of  Alexander,  and  his  aspect  bold  : 
The  bronze  looks  up  to  heaven,  and  seems  to  cry: 

"The  Earth  is  mine;  thou,  Zeus,  Olympus  hold  !  " 

The  witty  and  satirical  epigrams  in  the  Anthol- 
ogy are  numerous,  but  they  relate  mainly  to  mere 
local  subjects,  so  that  the  point  of  them  is  to  a 
great  extent  lost  to  us.  There  are  several,  how. 
ever,  which  reappear  as  original  among  English  satir. 
ists.     As  these : 

Damon,  who  plied  the  Undertaker's  trade, 

With  Doctor  Crateas  an  agreement  made : 

What  linens  Damon  from  the  dead  could  seize, 

He  to  the  Doctor  sent  for  bandages; 

While  the  good  Doctor — here  no  promise-breaker — 

Sent  all  his  patients  to  the  Undertaker. 

Dick  cannot  blow  his  nose  whene'er  he  pleases — 

His  nose  so  long  is,  and  his  arm  so  short ; 
Nor  ever  cries,  "  God  bless  us  !  "  when  he  sneezes — 

He  cannot  hear  so  distant  a  report. 

Gellia,  your  mirror's  false ;  you  could  not  bear, 
If  it  were  true,  to  see  your  image  there. 

A  blockhead,  bit  by  fleas,  put  out  the  light, 

And  chuckling  cried,  "  Now  you  can't  see  to  bite  !  '* 

A  viper  bit  a  Cappadocian's  hide ; 

But  'twas  the  viper,  not  the  man^  that  died. 


ANTHOLOGY.  471 

Lerians  are  bad :  not  some  bad,  and  some  noty 
But  all.     There's  not  a  Lerian  in  the  lot, 
Save  Procles,  that  you  could  a  good  man  call : — 
And  Procles  is — a  Lerian,  after  all. 

Men  die  when  the  night-raven  sings  or  cries ; 
But  when  Dick  sings,  e'en  the  night-raven  dies. 

Nicias,  a  Doctor  and  Musician, 

Lies  under  very  foul  suspicion  : 
He  sings,  and  without  any  shame 

He  murders  all  the  finest  music ; 
Does  he  prescribe,  our  fates  the  same, 

If  he  shall  e'er  find  me  or  you  sick. 

All  wives  are  plagues;  yet  two  blest  times  have  they? 
Their  bridal  first,  and  then  their  burial  day. 


ANTHONY,  Susan  Brownell,  an  American 
reformer  and  agitator,  born  at  South  Adams, 
Mass.,  February  15,  1820,  of  Quaker  parentage. 
She  taught  school  in  New  York  State  for  fifteen 
years  from  1850.  In  1852  she  organized  the  Wom- 
en's New  York  State  Temperance  Society,  and 
has  always  been  an  active  leader  in  temperance 
and  woman's  rights  movements.  She  was  also  an 
active  agitator  of  the  abolition  of  slavery.  She 
was  joint  author  with  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Cady  Stan- 
ton and  Mrs.  Matilda  J.  Gage  of  The  History  of 
Woman  Suffrage,  which  was  published  in  1881. 
The  foUov/ing  extract  is  taken  from  a  speech  in 
favor  of  Woman  Suffrage  delivered  to  the  Judi. 
ciary  Committee  of  the  United  States  Senate: 

THE   NEGRO    BUT   NOT   A   WOMAN. 

It  is  not  argument  nor  Constitution  that  you  need  ; 
you  have  already  had  these.  I  sliall  therefore  refer  to 
existing  facts.  Prior  to  the  war  the  plan  of  extending 
suffrage  was  by  State  action,  and  it  was  our  pride  and 
our  boast  that  the  Federal  Constitution  had  not  a  word 
or  a  line  that  could  be  construed  into  a  barrier  against 
woman  so  soon  as  we  could  remove  the  State  barriers  ; 
but  at  the  close  of  the  war  Congress  lifted  the  ques- 
tion of  suffrage  for  men  above  State  power,  and  by  its 
amendments  prohibited  the  deprivation  of  suffrage  to 
any  man  by  any  State.  When  the  fourteenth  amend- 
ment was  first  enacted  in  Congress  we  rushed  to  you 
with  petitions,  praying  you  not  to  insert  the  word 
"  male  "  in  the  second  clause.  Our  best  woman-suffrage 
men,  on  the  floor  of  Congress  and  in  the  country,  said 
to  us,  "The  insertion  of  the  word  there  puts  up  no  bar- 
rier against  women  ;  therefore  do  not  embarrass  us,  bat 


SUSAN    B.    ANTHONY. 


SUSAN-  BROWNE LL  ANTHONY  473 

wait  until  the  negro  question  is  settled."  The  four- 
teenth amendment  with  the  word  "  male  "  was  adopted. 
Then  when  the  fifteenth  amendment  came  up  without 
the  word  "  sex,"  we  again  protested,  and  again  our 
friends  declared  to  us  that  the  absence  of  that  word 
was  no  hindrance  to  us,  and  again  begged  us  to  wait 
until  they  had  finished  the  work  of  the  war.  "After 
we  have  freed  the  negro,  and  given  him  a  vote,"  said 
they,  "we  will  take  up  your  case."  But  have  they  done 
as  they  promised  ?  No,  they  have  refused  us  our  rights, 
although  they  have  given  the  negro  his,  and  now,  when 
we  come  before  you,  asking  protection  under  the  guar- 
antee of  the  Constitution,  the  same  men  say  to  us  our 
only  plan  is  to  wait  the  action  of  Congress  and  State 
Legislatures  in  the  adoption  of  a  sixteenth  amendment, 
that  shall  make  null  and  void  the  insertion  of  the  word 
"  male  "  in  the  fourteenth  amendment  and  supply  the 
want  of  the  word  "sex"  in  the  fifteenth  amendment. 

Such  tantalization  endured  by  yourselves,  or  b}^  any 
class  of  men,  would  have  wrought  rebellion  and  in  the 
end  a  bloody  revolution.  It  is  only  the  friendly  rela- 
tions that  subsist  between  the  sexes,  the  affection  that 
women  bear  to  men,  that  has  prevented  any  such  result 
here.  Gentlemen,  I  should  be  sure  of  what  your  deci- 
sion would  be,  if  you  could  only  realize  the  fact  that  we, 
who  have  been  battling  for  our  rights,  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  have  felt,  and  now  feel,  precisely  as  you 
v/ould  under  the  same  circumstances.  Men  never  do 
realize  this.  One  of  the  most  ardent  lovers  of  free- 
dom, and  firmest  defenders  of  it,  said  to  me,  two  win- 
ters ago,  after  our  hearing  before  the  committee  of  the 
district,  *'  Miss  Anthony,  I  never  knew,  at  least,  I  never 
realized  before,  in  my  life,  that  you  feel  disfranchise- 
ment just  as  I  should  myself — the  disgrace  of  it,  the 
humiliation  of  the  soul." 

We  have  petitioned  for  our  rights  year  after  year. 
Although  I  am  a  Quaker  and  take  no  oath,  yet  I  have 
made  a  most  solemn  affirmation  that  I  would  never  beg 
for  my  rights  again,  but  that  I  would  come  up  before 
you  each  year,  and  demand  the  recognition  of  those 
rights. — From  a  speech  delivered  before  the  Senate  Commit- 
tee at  Washington. 


APPLETON,  Thomas  Gold,  an  American  poet 
and  prose  writer,  was  born  in  Boston,  Mass., 
March  31,  1812;  died  in  New  York  City,  April 
17,  1 884.  He  was  educated  at  the  Boston  Latin 
School  and  at  Harvard  University,  graduating  at 
the  latter  in  183 1.  He  spent  much  time  in  travel, 
was  an  art  connoisseur  and  patron,  and  the  found- 
er of  the  Boston  Literary  Club.  Faded  Leaves,  a 
volume  of  poems,  was  among  his  first  publications. 
A  Sheaf  of  Papers  appeared  in  1874;  Nile  Journal 
(1876);  Syrian  Sunshine  (1877);  Windfalls  (1878), 
and  Chequer  Work:  A  Volume  of  Tales  and  Essays 
(1879). 

PORT    SAID    TO    JAFFA. 

It  was  early  spring,  not  at  all  hot  or  windy,  faultless 
weather ;  and  we  enjoyed  every  moment.  Upon  a  sky 
of  paler  blue  than  Egypt's,  soft  clouds  poised  like 
winged  things,  and  an  indescribable  serenity  and  peace 
filled  the  landscape.  There  were  no  fences,  and  the 
road  wandered  with  easy  grace,  as  if  desiring  not  to 
hurry  the  traveller.  It  was  a  slope  of  gentle  ascent  all 
the  way  to  Ramleh. 

A  certain  spiritual  beauty,  which  we  could  not  de- 
fine, brooded  over  everything.  On  either  side  waved 
the  tender  wheat,  with  faint  belts  of  varying  color,  as 
the  plant  was  younger  or  older;  and  on  either  side 
everywhere  were  flowers,  whose  subtle  delicacy  and 
charm  proved  thev  snrang  from  no  common  soil.  Some- 
thing of  superiority  and  nobleness  might  have  been  pre- 
dicted for  the  development  of  the  human  brain  which 
owned  such  fellows.  Chiefly  two  flowers  abounded 
there  as  all  over  Syria — a  crimson  anemone,   like  a  glori- 

(474) 


THOMAS    GOLD   APPLE  TON.  475 

fied  coquelicot  in  size  and  tint  ;  and  that  other  flower, 
with  its  modest,  slender  form,  of  a  purple  which  seemed 
born  of  the  skies,  and  worthy  of  Him  who  said  of  it, 
"  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field."  Though,  in  his  book 
on  Palestine,  Dean  Stanley  says  it  is  uncertain  which 
flower  is  thus  honored,  our  elder  lady,  a  thorough  bot- 
anist, pronounced  them  indubitably  lilies.  And  what 
other  flower  could  be  the  one  divinely  noticed?  It  is 
everywhere,  in  every  field,  and  only  leaves  the  traveller 
where  the  terror  of  limestone  ravines  and  crests  bids  it 
beware.  On  looking  at  it,  one  instinctively  feels — This 
is  tke  lily;  and  it  is  delightful  to  know  when  the  trav- 
eller carries  away  his  little  book  of  field  memories,  so 
charmingly  prepared  for  him  at  Jerusalem,  that  in  many 
a  bleak  clime,  and  after  many  years,  that  tender  violet, 
unfading,  will  assert  itself  as  lovely  as  it  is  permanent. 

We  did  not  meet  many  figures  on  the  road.  There 
was  a  sense  of  solitude  without  loneliness ;  earth  and 
sky  were  companionable ;  and  we  should  have  hated 
certain  ones,  which  we  dreaded  to  meet.  But  only  here 
and  there  a  cluster  of  merchants,  with  well-filled  saddle- 
bags, in  colors  as  harmonious  with  the  scene  as  were 
the  flowers,  staring  and  clattering  went  by.  Or  some 
solitary  turbaned  figure,  with  the  broad  brown  belts  of 
color  on  his  cloak,  gay  pistols  in  his  girdle,  and  one  long 
carabine  stretching  above  his  head  from  behind — these 
were  all  the  travellers  we  met.      All  these  were  horsemen. 

What  was  wanting  was  a  brook ;  but  Syria  is  not  a 
land  of  brooks,  but  of  wells.  There  probably  were 
many  in  the  olden  time,  which  now  are  dried  up.  But 
the  well,  unknown  in  Egypt,  is  the  privilege  of  Judea. 
Fortunately  for  us,  an  historical  well  is  safe.  It  can- 
not be  carried  away,  it  is  not  liable  to  fall  down,  it 
does  not  expect  to  be  rebuilt,  as  may  castles  and  pal- 
aces. We  are  quite  sure  that  any  famous  well  of  the 
Bible  is  the  one  we  now  see ;  though,  as  at  the  well  of 
Jacob,  additions  for  honor  and  shelter  disturb  our  no- 
tions of  what  a  well  should  be,  yet  it  is  sure  to  be  there. 
If  we  could  only  see  in  its  simplicity  this  well  of  Jacob, 
with  its  plain  curb,  as  Titian'  has  painted  it,  we  could 
better  supply  the  figures  and  intercourse  of  that  death- 
less twain  than  can  we  now. — Syrian  Sunshine. 


476  THOMAS  GOLD  APPLETOK 


DOWN    THE   NILE. 

How  lucky  we  are  to  have  a  current  in  our  favor; 
without  that  we  should  never  reach  Cairo,  for  the  breeze 
blows  steadily  against  us,  which,  fortunately,  is  all  gain 
for  those  going  up.  Not  only  that,  but  the  conflicting 
wind  and  current  make  a  little  sea,  which  stimulates 
the  peristaltic  motion  in  many  a  dahabeah,  Luckily, 
sea-sickness  is  soon  forgotten,  and  the  romantic  travel- 
ler tries  to  believe  it  never  existed. 

But,  after  all,  what  a  bore  the  Nile  must  be  to  many 
of  that  herd  of  travellers  who,  driven  from  their  firesides 
by  the  physician  or  fashion,  utterly  unprepared  by  study 
or  reflection  for  interest  to  track  the  footsteps  of  the 
past,  with  no  love  of  literature,  no  skill  in  sketching, 
secretly  longing  for  the  routine  they  have  escaped,  how 
can  they  often  here  fail  to  wish  themselves  well  home 
again  ?  Without  confessing  it,  we  ourselves  were  secretly 
soured  by  the  weary  weather,  and  were  glad  to  get  out 
for  a  four  mile  stretch  on  foot  to  Esn^.  It  was  the 
same  Esnd  we  remember,  looking  with  its  right-angled 
houses  like  one  of  Poussin's  towns,  as  we  approached  it. 
The  ghawazees  were  there  in  swarms,  with  their  ugly, 
long,  striped  calico  dresses,  and  alas !  the  flies  we 
knew  before  had  only  said  "a«  revoir"  and  awaited  us. 
There  was  a  file  of  dahabeahs,  and  among  them  acquaint- 
ances. From  them  we  got  home  papers;  and  how  the 
flimsy  cotton  paper,  the  small  pale  type  and  the  string 
of  debilitated  fun  reminded  us  that  a  democracy  is  not 
absolute  perfection. 

Fortunately  that  silence  which  the  absence  of  letters 
inspires  with  terror  seems  to  be  innocent  of  calamity, 
and  if  they  are  well  at  home,  have  we  not  here  the 
burden  of  a  great  grief?  Our  baby  crocodile  is  dead. 
Savak  mourns  for  it  through  all  his  palaces  of  mud,  and 
we  share  his  woe.  We  cannot  guess  which  killed  it,  the 
coldness  of  the  water  in  its  pan,  or  the  fatigue  of  its 
journey,  head  downward,  in  the  hand  of  the  Arab.  At 
all  events  it  presents  the  creature  in  a  new  light,  not 
the  unassailable  tyrant  of  the  river,  but  with  sensibility, 
perhaps  even  sentiment. — A  Nile  Jourtial, 


^^^ 

^^^^fe^' 

:.^:g 

^^^^1 

^l^^^^^^J' 

APULEIUS,  or  APPULEIUS,  Lucius,  a 
Roman  rhetorician  and  Platonic  philosopher,  was 
born  at  Medaura,  Numidia,  about  a.d.  125.  By 
his  mother,  he  was  of  the  blood  of  the  Plutarchs. 
He  was  educated  at  Carthage  and  at  Athens. 
During  a  long  course  of  travel,  which  he  under- 
took for  the  purpose  of  studying  the  religious 
mysteries  of  his  age,  he  fell  in  love  with  and  mar- 
ried, at  Alexandria,  the  widowed  mother  of  a  for- 
mer fellow-student.  The  lady  dying,  his  title  to 
her  wealth  was  contested  on  the  ground  that  he  had 
used  magic  in  winning  her  love.  This  gave  rise 
to  his  first  famous  work.  Apologia,  sive  de  Magia, 
which  is  merely  his  brilliant,  witty,  and  successful 
defence  before  his  judges.  Of  the  minor  works  of 
Apuleius,  the  Florida  are  a  collection  of  extracts 
from  his  own  public  speeches,  beautiful  examples 
of  sophistical  small-talk  ;  The  God  of  Socrates  is  an 
entertaining  little  exposition  of  the  doctrine  of 
good-natured  demons ;  and  there  are  two  books 
on  the  life  and  philosophy  of  Plato.  A  work  on 
logic,  ascribed  to  Apuleius,  is  generally  considered 
spurious.  The  great  work  of  Apuleius,  however, 
and  that  by  which  he  is  almost  exclusively  known 
to  most  modern  readers,  is  his  Metamorphosis, 
otherwise  known  as  The  Golden  Ass.  This  fantas- 
tic romance  is  supposed  by  some  to  have  been  his 
earliest  as  v/ell  as  his  greatest  work.     In  it  the 

U77; 


478  LUCIUS  APULEIUS. 

author  relates  the  adventures  of  "Lucius"  in  his 
own  person  :  and  this  has  often  caused  much  con- 
fusion in  regard  to  the  circumstances  of  his  own 
hfe.  The  "  Lucius  "  of  the  story,  thinking  to  be- 
come a  proficient  in  the  art  of  magic,  succeeds 
in  getting  himself  transformed  into  an  ass,  but  is 
not  deprived  of  his  human  intelligence.  Dunlop, 
in  his  History  of  Prose  Fiction,  says  that  the  readers 
of  his  romance,  "  on  account  of  its  excellence,  as 
is  generally  supposed,  added  the  epithet  '  golden.  ' 
Warburton,  however,  conjectures,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  one  of  Pliny's  epistles,  that  Aiircce 
( '  golden  ' )  was  the  common  title  given  to  the 
Milesian  and  such  tales  as  strollers  used  to  tell  for 
a  piece  of  money  to  the  rabble  in  a  circle — '  Assevi 
para  et  accipe  aiircam  fabulaui'  These  Milesian 
fables  were  much  in  vogue  in  the  age  of  Apuleius." 
Later  writers,  notably  Boccaccio,  Cervantes,  and 
Le  Sage,  have  borrowed  freely  from  Hie  Goldcji 
Ass,  and  the  charming  episode  of  Cupid  and  Physche 
has  been  the  inspiration  of  many  a  modern  book. 

THE   METAMORPHOSIS. 

Fotis,  serving-maid  to  the  witch  Pamphile,  promises 
to  let  her  lover,  Lucius,  witness  the  magic  perform- 
ances of  her  mistress.  Lucius  sees  Pamphile  transform 
herself  into  an  owl.  He  attempts  to  imitate  her;  but, 
by  an  unlucky  mistake  of  Fotis,  he  is  changed  into  an 
ass. 

She  stole  into  her  mistress's  chamber  with  the  greatest 
trepidation,  and  took  a  little  box  out  of  the  casket. 
Having  first  hugged  and  kissed  it,  and  offered  up  a 
prayer  that  it  would  favor  me  with  a  prosperous  flight, 
I  hastily  divested  myself  of  all  my  garments,  then 
greedily  dipping  my  fingers  into  the  box,  and  taking 
thence  a  considerable  quantity  of  the  ointment,  I  rubbed 


LUCIUS  APULEIUS.  479 

it  all  over  my  body  and  limbs.  And  now,  flapping  my 
arms  up  and  down,  I  anxiously  awaited  my  change  into 
a  bird.  But  no  down,  no  shooting  wings  appeared,  but 
my  hairs  evidently  became  thickened  into  bristles,  and 
my  tender  skin  was  hardened  into  a  hide;  my  hands 
and  feet,  too,  no  longer  furnished  with  distinct  fingers 
and  toes,  formed  as  many  massive  hoofs,  and  a  long  tail 
projected  from  the  extremity  of  my  spine.  My  face 
was  now  enormous,  my  mouth  wide,  my  nostrils  gaping, 
and  my  lips  hanging  down.  In  like  manner  my  ears 
grew  hairy,  and  of  immoderate  length,  and  I  found  in 
every  respect  I  had  become  enlarged.  Thus,  hopelessly 
surveymg  all  parts  of  my  body,  I  beheld  myself  changed 
not  into  a  bird,  but  an  ass.  I  wished  to  upbraid  Fotis 
for  the  deed  she  had  done ;  but,  row  deprived  both  of 
the  gesture  and  voice  of  man,  I  could  only  expostulate 
with  her  silently  with  my  under-lip  hanging  down,  and 
looking  sideways  at  her  with  tearful  eyes.  As  for  her, 
as  soon  as  she  beheld  me  thus  changed,  she  beat  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  cried  aloud,  "Wretch  that  I 
am,  I  am  undone  !  In  my  haste  and  flurry  I  mistook 
one  box  for  the  other,  deceived  by  their  similarity.  It 
is  fortunate,  however,  that  a  remedy  for  this  transfor- 
mation is  easily  to  be  obtained  ;  for,  by  only  chewing  roses, 
you  will  put  off"  the  form  of  an  ass,  and  in  an  instant 
will  become  my  Lucius  once  again.  I  only  wish  that 
I  had  prepared  as  usual  some  garlands  of  roses  for  us 
last  evening ;  for  then  you  would  not  have  had  to  suffer 
the  delay  even  of  a  singie  night.  But,  at  the  break  of 
dawn,  the  remedy  shall  be  provided  for  you."  Thus 
did  she  lament ;  and,  as  for  me,  though  I  was  a  perfect 
ass,  and,  instead  of  Lucius,  a  beast  of  burden,  I  still  re- 
tained human  sense  ;  long  and  deeply,  in  fact,  did  I  con- 
sider with  myself,  whether  I  ought  not  to  bite  and  kick 
that  most  wicked  woman  to  death.  However,  better 
thoughts  recalled  me  from  such  rash  designs,  lest,  by  in- 
flicting on  Fotis  the  punishment  of  death,  I  should  at 
once  put  an  end  to  all  chances  of  efficient  assistance.  So, 
bending  my  head  low,  shaking  my  ears,  I  silently  swal- 
lowed my  wrongs  for  a  time,  and,  submitting  to  my 
most  dreadful  misfortune,  I  betook  myself  to  the  stable. 
—  Translated  by '^o^-a  from  The  Golden  Ass. 


4So  LUCIUS  APULEIUS 


THE    FLORIDA. 

My  predecessor  Socrates,  when  he  had  looked  for 
some  time  upon  a  handsome  but  silent  youth,  exclaimed  : 
'*  Say  something,  that  I  may  see  you."  Socrates  saw 
not  a  silent  man  ;  for  he  thought  that  men  were  to  be 
considered  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  rays  of  the 
intellect  and  the  gaze  of  the  soul.  In  this  he  differed 
in  opinion  with  the  soldier  in  Plautus,  who  says  :  "  One 
eye-witness  is  worth  more  than  ten  ear-witnesses." 
Nay,  he  held  the  converse  of  this  verse  with  regard  to 
the  examination  of  men  :  "  One  ear-witness  is  worth 
more  than  ten  eye-witnesses."  But  if  the  judgments 
formed  by  the  eyes  were  more  valued  than  those  of  the 
mind,  the  palm  of  wisdom  would  be  due  to  the  eagle. 
For  we  men  can  neither  discern  things  far  away  nor 
very  near  us,  but  are  all  in  a  measure  blind  ;  and  if  you 
consider  us  only  with  regard  to  our  eyes,  and  our 
earthly  and  dull  vision,  truly  the  great  poet  has  well 
said  that  there  is  a  mist,  as  it  were,  before  our  eyes,  and 
that  we  cannot  see  clearly  beyond  a  stone's  throw. 
But  the  eagle  when  he  has  soared  aloft  as  high  as  the 
clouds,  sweeping  with  his  wings  all  that  space  in  which 
it  rains  and  snows,  a  height  beyond  which  there  is  no 
place  for  the  thunder  or  lightning,  or  the  very  base  of 
the  ether  and  summit  of  the  tempest,  so  to  speak  ;  the 
eagle  when  he  has  soared  thither,  glides  along  bodily, 
with  a  gentle  inclination  left  or  right,  turning  his  sail- 
spread  wings  in  whatever  direction  he  pleases,  using 
his  tail  as  a  small  helm.  Looking  down  thence  on  all  be- 
low him,  with  unwearied  rowing  of  his  wings,  and  with 
his  flight  stayed  awhile,  he  remains  at  gaze  suspended 
nearly  in  the  same  spot,  and  considers  in  what  direction 
he  shall  swoop  down  on  his  prey  like  a  thunderbolt : 
seeing  at  one  glance,  himself  unseen  in  the  heavens, 
cattle  in  the  fields,  wild  beasts  on  the  mountains,  and 
men  in  the  towns,  he  considers  where  he  may  pierce 
with  his  beak  or  hook  with  his  talons  a  heedless  lamb 
or  timid  hare,  or  any  living  thing  that  chance  may  offer 
him  to  tear  and  devour. —  Translation  by  Bonn  from  The 
Golden  Ass. 


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